


The Lovers That Went Wrong

by Lapin



Series: Youth [1]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Deception, Different Choices, Healers, M/M, Triads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 16:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 141,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lapin/pseuds/Lapin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Amon left the North Pole, it was with disgust for the way he only learned the cruelty in waterbending. When he arrived in Republic City, his disgust only grew, at the sight of the corruption and cruelty, all the way from the Triads up to the Council. What if he was given a different choice though, a different way of doing things? The paths in life are many and varied, and in one world, maybe he went down a different one.  </p><p>Maybe the Lieutenant did too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our minds are troubled by the emptiness

**Author's Note:**

> A/N Truthfully, I don't know what this is. I saw a prompt on LiveJournal vaguely similar, and kind of just ran with it. I don't know if it's any good, it's just...silliness, I guess? 
> 
> Disclaimer: _Avatar: Legend of Korra_ is owned by Nickelodeon Studios, and I express no affiliation with them, nor do I profit in any way from the use. Title is a lyric from the song "Youth" by Daughter, and I express no affiliation with them (her? why aren't you on WIkipedia?). It's a very good song though.

The place smelled, like sweat, cheap alcohol, and cheaper tobacco. There was also the unmistakeable odor of stale saltwater, hard to avoid in a warehouse full of perspiring dockworkers. “What are we doing here?” He asked again, disgusted and uncomfortable in the press of bodies. 

“I told you, this is fun.” 

He wasn't so sure about that. On one level, he knew he was going to have to start socializing eventually, but on another level, he didn't think a place like this was where he needed to be socializing. But this was where his fellow apprentice from the clinic had invited him, so this was where he was. 

“What exactly goes on here?”

The other apprentice, Pasook, raised an eyebrow at him. “What, seriously?” He asked, his voice barely discernible in the din. “Do you ever leave the dorms?” 

“Not really.” He confessed, as he was pulled through the crowd, until they hit a thick, filthy rope barring the way. The rope was attached to posts, and he saw it formed a squarish shape in the middle of the place. 

At his back, excited dock workers pushed, and he had to grab the rope to hold his place, and stop himself from spilling over into the roped off area. He turned to glare, but it did no good. None of them were paying him any attention. Everyone was focused on the two men inside, standing in opposite corners, in loose pants with wrapped knuckles. 

“Looks like we got here in time for one last good fight,” Pasook said, biting his lip. 

He turned to him. “A fight? Why are they fighting?”

Pasook frowned down at him, and shook his head. “What do they _do_ in the North Pole for fun?”

“This is fun?” He asked disbelievingly, looking around them. He felt unclean just being near these people. 

His companion just sighed, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Okay, this is pretty simple stuff. No bending, no weapons, and no tricks. Can't hit below the belt, can't hit them when they're down. And you can't hit the referee.” He hitched his chin at a man leaning on the ropes. “That's the referee. He handles making sure the rules are followed.”

“So...they hit each other. For fun.” He repeated, looking between the men. The one opposite them was of Earth Kingdom stock, built small and compact, with wild brown hair and eyes. He was flexing for the crowd, to cheers and booing alike. 

The other man, the one closer to them, was taller, paler, and leaner. His musculature was longer, to suit his frame, less built-up. His hair was black, and fine. Fire Nation then, probably. When he looked up though, his eyes were blue.

“Who is he?” He asked, curious at such a mix. 

Pasook grinned. “Don't know, but he better be prepared for an ass-kicking. That's Mad Dog, over there. He's undefeated.” 

He kept quiet, unsure of what to say, as he watched the fighter closest to them. He wasn't grinning like Mad Dog was, but he was smiling, sort of. The corners of his mouth were turned up, at least. 

The referee blew a whistle, and moved to the center of the roped off area, the two fighters joining him. Whatever he said to them was drowned out by the crowd, but when he stepped back, Mad Dog swung, and connected right with the man's jaw. His own eyes widened, as the man barely staggered before coming back with one, two, three direct hits, one to Mad Dog's face, another to his stomach, then a knee up into Mad Dog's side as the man wheezed. 

He'd never seen anybody move so fast.

Mad Dog coughed, as the tall man went down, and knocked Mad Dog off his feet with one sweep of his leg. 

When Mad Dog didn't get up, the crowd began to count, and when they reached ten, and Mad Dog was still gasping for breath on the ground, the referee blew his whistle, holding up the hand closest to the tall man. 

“It's best of three rounds, at this stage.” Pasook explained, right in his ear. “If you stay down for ten seconds, you've lost. You can yield too.” 

“What does it take to make someone yield?” 

Whatever it was, the answer lost in the noise, he doubted he'd see it from this man. He didn't look like the yielding type. 

The second round started, and this time, Mad Dog came back with a vengeance. He didn't bother with a showy hit this time, instead, he went for the stomach. The blue-eyed man took it with barely a grimace, and he took the double-fisted blow to his back the same way. 

Beside him, Pasook cheered. 

Mad Dog went for a kick to the ribs, the swagger in his movements showing his confidence was back. It was premature though, he thought. He didn't know how he knew, he knew nothing about this kind of fighting, nothing about these movements, but there was something in the way the blue-eyed man was watching Mad Dog that told him not everything was as it seemed in the ring. He was waiting.

Again, Mad Dog hit him, and this time, the blue-eyed man stayed down for the ten-count. Around them, there were jeers of _beginner's luck_ and other uncharitable things. _Mutt_ , he heard someone behind him hiss. 

The third round was an entirely different story. While Mad Dog was still grinning, the man put a well-placed foot in his stomach. This was what he had seen earlier. This man was no brawler, not like Mad Dog, not like the men in this room. He was too controlled, too easy at taking hits. This man was trained, and trained well.

Mad Dog never stood a chance. 

The final hit was a barrage of kicks to mad Dog's side, the man falling further and further back, until he hit the ropes, and only then did the blue-eyed man lower his leg, a perfectly controlled folding in at the knee before placing his foot on the ground. 

Mad Dog didn't get up, even after the ten-count, and even from a few paces away, he could tell the blue-eyed man had broken the three lower ribs on the fallen man's right side. Beside him, Pasook swore, and jumped the rope, going to the downed fighter, to the catcalls of the crowd. Apparently, needing a healer was seen as weakness, but the danger of broken ribs clearly outweighed the man's pride.

“Winner!” The referee announced, holding up the blue-eyed man's hand. “Nameless so far, but how about we give him a name?” 

The crowd roared their approval, and around him, names were shouted, some less complimentary than others. He heard the voice behind him start the chant, as it grew to a crescendo, “Mutt, Mutt, Mutt!” They shouted as one, and the blue-eyed man smirked. 

“You've spoken, my good people, so here he is, your new champion, the Mutt!” 

He personally didn't think it was a very complimentary moniker. There was something almost poisonous about it, resentful. The crowd did not like this man the way they'd liked Mad Dog. They liked the violence, that much was obvious, and even people like this were impressed by efficiency at this level, but the man lacked Mad Dog's careless charisma. He didn't feel like a champion.

He felt dangerous. 

The blue eyes flickered across the crowd, and landed on him. It was no trick of the light, and he wasn't looking at anyone behind him. The man was focused on him, his blue eyes dark under the bad lighting, skin washed out, but still too pale, hair still fine and pitch black.

He wasn't wrong, he thought. The man was Fire Nation. Only they had hair so dark with skin so white. But those eyes were Water Tribe. 

What kind of life had he had, he wondered, cursed with those eyes? 

The mouth, thin and humorless despite the smile, twisted into a smirk as they stared each other down. What did he think of him, he wondered? He was Water Tribe born, with no mistake. No one would ever take him for anything different, with his traditional hair and woven choker. Was he resentful? Was that why he was still holding his eyes, as the referee talked and the crowd responded? A mix like him would never be welcome at either Pole. Never to know the taste of the fresh snows, never to feel the joy in Tui and La every Winter Solstice. 

A hand tugged on his sleeve. “Hey,” Pasook, finished with Mad Dog, was at his side. “We should get going. It's getting late.” 

The man looked at his companion, and raised one eyebrow in, what, mockery? He couldn't tell. 

“What are you staring at?” Pasook asked, shaking him. It broke his concentration, and the odd connection he'd shared with the strange man. His companion wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and led him out, past the muttering exchanges of yuan between people, and the threat of fights stirring up between some groups. “Clinic will be full tomorrow, guarantee it.”

“Do they fight often?”

“What, the fighters?” He'd actually meant the crowds, but he didn't feel like raising his voice and correcting him. “Yeah, there's normally five matches a night. We just got here late, thanks to that accident. I wish you could have seen Mad Dog really fight. He must have been worn out from the previous.” Pasook shook his head.

He disagreed, as they exited the place, his ears ringing from the noise. “The other man would have won.”

“That mutt? How do you figure?” 

“I just know.” He frowned, as he freed himself from Pasook on the empty street. “Why do you call him that? Mixes aren't uncommon here.” 

His companion shrugged. “Different, isn't it? Water Tribe and Fire Nation? They just...I mean...it's just not a thing.” 

“The Earth Kingdom has more grievances.” 

“Not really.” Pasook said. “I mean, Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom were always mixing, along the borders. War just made it more common. Water Tribe though, I mean, everyone knows what happened to the benders in the South Pole, and then there was that mess back home, near the end of the war. With La getting murdered and the Avatar and Tui. It's just, the Earth Kingdom, they're used to the mixed breeds. Water Tribe like staying pure.” 

It nagged him, how Pasook called the North Pole 'home'. He had been born there, but had left at two, and only been back twice, as a child. It made him feel territorial, though he wasn't sure why. 

“How is any of that his fault?” He asked, struck by the unfairness of it. “He's only a little older than us, and why should he be blamed for something his parents did? We don't choose how we're born.” 

“Spirits,” Pasook huffed. “You'd think the guy was your friend, or something. It's just the way it is, okay? Stop making such a big deal over it.” He narrowed his pale blue eyes at him. “You know, this is why no one ever wants to hang out with you. You always take everything too seriously.” 

He bristled at the implication he was making a mountain out of an anthill. “So you think it's fine for people to be called names for something they had no control over? That it's alright to treat them badly because they don't fit what you deem acceptable?” It smacked of his father's way of thinking too much for his liking.

Pasook threw up his hands in frustration. “Look, no one told his parents to fuck. His mom or his dad, whoever, they disrespected their parents by screwing someone from the Fire Nation. Sucks to be him, fine, but don't expect to get special treatment.” 

“It's not special treatment to be treated fairly.” He argued. “And we're not nearly as pure race as we like to claim. The Foggy Swamp Tribes bred with the non-bending locals. They're not any less of waterbenders than we are.”

“Yeah, but no one calls them Water Tribesman, do they?” Pasook rubbed his temple. “Man, I don't want to fight with you over such stupid shit. Let's just go back to the dorms, okay?” 

“You go.” He said, shaking his head. “I want to take a walk.” 

Pasook rolled his eyes. “It's getting ready to snow.” They could both feel it above them, in the clouds, the swelling of water, and the cold that mean it would freeze. 

“I'm from the North Pole.” He replied, emphasizing the 'from', irritated enough to take a jab at him and his pretense. “Snow doesn't bother _me_.” He needed it to snow on him, really, feel it catch in his eyelashes, sting his cheeks. The burning anger in his stomach would settle for nothing less. 

“Suit yourself.” Pasook said dismissively, sticking his hands in his pockets and heading off in the direction of their dormitory. 

He let out a breath, and crossed his arms over his chest before choosing a direction. 

He had been in Republic City for a year now, and away from the North Pole for two. It had been a long ocean passage from the Pole to the Earth Kingdom, and the whole way, he had woken every morning with the guilt eating away at him, because _Tarrlok_ , he had just left him, and he'd been gone long enough now that his anger had finally narrowed in focus to just his father. But then, he didn't believe his mother had been entirely blameless. After all, she had let their father work them into the ground, and a blind man could have seen how terrorized Tarrlok was by it all. No, his mother had betrayed them in favor of her husband, and he wasn't sure he could forgive that. 

But he had left his little brother to fend for himself up there, and he wasn't all that sure he could forgive that either. It didn't seem fair.

The snow started, kissing his face like a mother, and he tightened his arms around his stomach.

“Now, what's a little thing like you doing out here by yourself?” 

He whirled on the voice, bending instinctively, the falling snow becoming enough to hold in his hand threateningly. 

“Whoa,” the man stepped into the lamp light, hands up in mocking surrender. “Jumpy little thing, aren't you?” 

It was the man from the ring, now clothed in pants, boots, and a thick coat, with dark fur lining the inside. Water Tribe style, but the colors were wrong. Black and brown fur, with red piping. His own eyes narrowed in confusion, even as he let the water lose form, falling with a splash to the street. 

“You.” He said, feeling stupid for it. The man knew who he was. “Did you follow me?” 

The man raised an eyebrow, in that same mocking way. “Don't flatter yourself. I live in this neighborhood, you little brat.” He narrowed his eyes at the insult, but held his tongue for the time being. “But the apprentice dorms, they're that way,” He nodded in the right direction. “So really, you're the one out of place.” He looked him up and down. “In more than one way, am I right?” 

He crossed his arms, uncomfortable now. “I live here.”

“But you're not from here.” 

Annoyed, he narrowed his eyes at him. “Neither are you.” He was almost sure he was right. “Where did your parents hide? The Earth Kingdom? Because no parent would bring a mix like you home to the Poles.” 

Now he had his full attention, no more of that casual mockery. He was in front of him before he quite knew the man had moved, because he was _fast_ , and it turned out, tall, as he looked down at him from a far too superior height for his own comfort. “Got a mouth on you, don't you, Brat?”

He glowered at him. “That's normally how people are born, with mouths, yes.” 

The man smirked, but there was nothing funny in it. It seemed more like a threat, than anything else. “The way you talk, you'd think you were looking for trouble.” 

“Like you could hurt me.” He returned, curling his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. He wasn't afraid, but for some reason, there was a tremor thrumming through his whole body, like a taut wire pulled hard and let loose. “You're not a bender.”

“You Water Tribesman,” the man shook his head, smiling. “You think bending is the only way to fight.” 

The man lunged, and he raised a water whip to strike, but then, two of the man's fingers hit _something_ along his arm, in a quick succession of forcefully painful taps, and then...

It was like when he slept on his arm, and he woke with it buzzing, but more than that, he couldn't feel the water anymore in that arm. He had never realized just how connected a bender must be, before that second, because it was indescribable, the loss. Like he'd gone deaf, or blind. 

In his shock, he never noticed the man grabbing him, pulling him against him, with his good arm twisted behind his back, fingers pressed into a point on his wrist that made it painful just to move his hand, removing the possibility of bending with it. 

“Care to repeat that thought?” The man's voice was hot on his ear, lilting up in clear amusement.

If he had been anyone else, he thought, anyone but a freak of nature, he would have been completely incapacitated. He knew no fighting styles beyond waterbending, knew no way to get out of this, except by using the evil his father had put inside of him. 

The man wasn't going to kill him though. He was merely making a point. There was no need, he assured his racing heart. No need to harm him, no need to release that monstrous thing within. 

“What did you do to my arm?” He asked, instead of struggling. The pressure on his pinned wrist made that a distasteful option anyway. It already ached like a pin being stuck through it, no need to make it worse. 

The man released him, still smiling, as he took his numb arm into the cradle of the hurt one, trying to restore feeling to it. 

“Chi-blocking, Brat.” He said, arrogant now, annoyingly so. “Stops the flow of power using pressure points.” He had never even thought that was possible, had never even considered it. His bending was as much a part of him as his blood. He had never thought it could be stopped.

But then, blood could be taken too, couldn't it?

“Where did you learn that?” The man mimed drawing a zipper across his lips, then turning a key. Irritated by his own ignorance, he scowled at him, and recoiled when the man reached for him. 

“Calm down,” the man scoffed, and pressed hard at a point above the crook of his elbow. With the painful feeling of needles pricking his skin, the chi flowed again, down his arm, and he called the water below, on the street, back into his hand. “Better?”

Grudgingly, he nodded, before looking back up at the man. There was still that strange hum running through him, wanting something he couldn't put a name to. “I was only taking a walk.” He rubbed at the wrist the man had hurt, was sure he had bruised. He would heal it later, he told himself. “My friend went home.”

“Oh yeah, the one falling all over Mad Dog.” The man replied, digging in his pocket. He produced a case he had become all too familiar with here in the city, lighting the cigarette he chose with a clockwork lighter that had a Future Industries logo stamped on it. 

He grimaced at the pungent smell. “Those things are vile. And poisonous.” 

“You're a little self-righteous. Anyone ever told you that?” More than once. The man dropped the thing in a very showy way though, the ember of it burning out on the thin layer of snow sticking to the street. “If I were you, I'd get back to your dorms. This isn't a nice neighborhood at this hour. Triads are out. And they're benders.” 

“I'm not scared of the Triads.” That wasn't a lie. They were mostly untrained bullies who could be easily dispatched, especially by someone like him, who had spent most of his life being trained. “Neither are you.” 

The man tilted his head at him, still smiling in that infuriating way. “Me and the locals have an understanding.” 

“How can you have an understanding with a group too brain-dead to tie their shoes?” 

The man laughed at him, and there it was again, that uncomfortable mix of vertigo and vibration inside. “That mouth is going to get you in trouble, Brat. I suggest you watch it, around here.” And with that, the man seemed to decide he was done with him, walking around him with his hands in his pockets. 

He was favoring his right side, he noticed. 

“You're injured.” He called after him. 

The man stopped, and looked over his shoulder at him. “What of it?”

“I can fix it, if you want.” The offer came out before he could stop it, and he just didn't know why. He couldn't let him leave though, not yet. He wasn't done with him. “I'm a month away from completing my apprenticeship. I know what I'm doing.” 

“As long as I'm not paying.” The man said, and waited, for him to catch up to him. 

“I'm an apprentice. I can't charge.” He reminded him, as they walked, the fine snow crunching under their feet. “You didn't seem hurt, in the ring.” 

“Didn't hurt yet.”

He didn't understand. “How?” 

“I hadn't decided to let it.” He was more confused at the answer, but he didn't know what else to say to that. 

The man lived in one of the many nondescript buildings in the neighborhood, and he followed him up the steps to the fifth floor easily enough. His own dorm room was on the sixth, though his steps were not quite so steep. It didn't seem to bother the man at all, despite what he knew had to be some awful bruising by now. 

His place was much bigger than his own dorm room though, a real apartment, not just a room for sleep and study. There was a designated area for cooking, and a table for sitting, a bed and not a bedroll, with a solid wooden frame, and shelves. 

On the wall, in brackets, sat two sticks of equal length, with a flame carved into the handle of both. 

There was the sound of rushing water, and when he turned, he saw the man actually had a tap above a metal bowl attached to the wall. A real sink, granted, a small one, in his living quarters? He had never seen something like that. They had them in the clinic, of course, but not where they slept. 

The man filled a bowl, and put it on the table, looking at him. “What?” He asked.

“You have a tap.” 

The man looked back at it, and shrugged. “They're getting more common, in these new buildings. Lots of the higher end places have their own bathrooms in the apartment.”

“What, really?” This building, like his own dorm, probably had a floor bathroom for the tenants. He knew free-standing houses had their own now, but having one in an apartment seemed like an expensive idea, if not a desirable one. 

The man nodded, hanging his coat on the back of the chair, before shucking his shirt. “You going to stand there, or be useful?” 

And he had been so calm now, too. This man was purposely infuriating, he had to be. People weren't born this annoying. 

He took off his gloves and coat, placing them across the other chair. The water in the bowl had the curiously metallic impurity all piped water had in the city, and when he bended it out of the bowl, the impurities stayed behind, like sand on the beach. 

In this at least, he felt confident again. This man had thrown him too far off balance for his own liking, but now, standing over him, analyzing the bruising, feeling out the damaged areas, he felt strong again. The water responded to him easily, following the broken chi lines, restoring them to where they were supposed to be, as he soothed the swollen blood vessels, rebuilt the broken ones. As simple as breathing, and he had never known, until he came to Republic City. Healing had still been considered a woman's art, at home. For men, it was fighting, or nothing. For his father, it was fighting, or nothing.

No one had ever told him bending could feel like this, could make him feel like his heart was lightened of its ache just by relieving the pain of others. This was the truest bending, he thought. This was what the Moon had really meant to teach them, thousands of years ago. How to help each other, not make war. If the healers hadn't found him that first week in the city, recruited him, he had no idea what he would have done.

Finished far too soon, he let the water fall back into the bowl, but before he could lift it, the man grabbed his wrist. This hold was nothing like the one before, as his thumb traced the veins just beneath the surface, his eyes trained on him with a focus that made it hard to breathe. 

“Do you know what you look like when you do that?” His voice, already deep enough he could feel it echo in his marrow, had a huskier quality now, one that heated his blood like nothing ever had before. 

“No.” He shook his head, mouth dry. 

The man stood, and pulled him close again. He only came to his shoulder, still too small, still growing, but then it didn't matter, because the man was kissing him, and no one had ever kissed him like this. He was clutching at his shoulders before he could stop himself, eagerly pressing himself to him, because this was what he had wanted, his body sang, this was what that thrum meant. It meant heat and want and an ache between his legs that made him gasp, as the man kissed him hard, moving down to his neck. 

He closed his eyes, the lights in the room too bright, and tried to breathe, but failed, as the man's mouth sucked a bruise into the crux of his neck, his fingers working at his spine in a way that made him claw at him. He didn't know what he was doing, had never felt like _this_ with anyone, so when the man pushed him on to the bed, he went willingly, because it felt good to have that weight on top of him, pressing him down into the quilt. 

He was close, and not close enough, as he wrapped his leg around the man's hips, trying to force him down against him. He needed the friction instinctively, as the man kept on, pushing at his robe, trying to get to the skin of his chest. He still couldn't get in a breath, couldn't think at all, except that all of this was good and right, and he wanted it to keep going. 

The knot of his robes was pulled undone, and the shock of cold air hitting him was enough to spark something in his brain, enough to bring reality back, and he hurriedly pushed at the man, disentangling himself as he pulled it shut again. 

“The fuck,” the man swore, as he got off the bed, retying the knot, and scrambling for his coat and gloves. “What's wrong with you?” 

“I don't know you.” He snapped, fingers fumbling as he pulled it over his head, his humiliation making his face burn. “I don't know your _name_ , I don't know anything about you.” 

“Do you want to know my name?” The man asked, leaning back on his hands.

“No.” His voice stuttered, and if he had been paler, his blush would have been more obvious. “I just want to go home.” 

The man shook his head. “Great. You get me worked up, then you leave. Brat.” 

He glowered at him. “Degenerate.” He shot back, before slamming the door shut.


	2. And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amon has chosen the life of a healer, instead of a revolutionary, but that doesn't mean he's not still an angry and withdrawn young man. He still carries the weight of who he is, and all the things he's done. Maybe though, it's finally okay to just be a seventeen-year-old boy, just for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N As usual, it took me no time at all to get to the sex. What? I play to my strengths here, people. So, warning, sex is happening.

Work at the clinic was absorbing, and that was exactly how he liked it. 

When he had first come to Republic City, he had disembarked the ship with just his bag and the extra twenty yuan the Captain had charitably paid him for his work on the ship. He'd had no idea what he was doing, only knew that Republic City was supposedly the shining beacon of the world, their hope of unity. 

He didn't know how much he'd believed that, and how much he just wanted to just disappear. Republic City was supposed to be a healthy mix of the nations, and though he knew he wasn't being pursued, knew his father would never bother, there was something to be said for not being the suspicious Water Tribesman making his way across the Earth Kingdom. 

He just wanted to be no one, for a little bit.

Unfortunately, he found being no one involved funds, and he had none. He needed occupation to survive, and it was while he was making his way to the factory district that he was stopped by a woman in a white shirt with a veil covering her hair. 

“Young man,” She called, and he obediently halted. “Fresh from the Poles, dear?”

“Not really.” He shrugged. “I've been away for a year now.” 

She had grinned, showing even white teeth. “You wouldn't happen to be a bender, now would you?” 

For a second, he was tempted to say no. He had managed to avoid using his bending for seven months now, but wasn't sure if that was the best way just yet. He loved being a bender, loved feeling the water flow through him, the pull of the Moon above him as he worked. He had missed it like a sense, and the ache of it was becoming unbearable. 

“Yes.” He finally answered.

Her name was Kanna, as it turned out, and she was the head healer of the Mercy of La Free Clinic. When he had parroted back his father's words about healing being for women, Kanna had raised an eyebrow before cuffing him hard on the shoulder. Shocked, because he'd never been struck by any woman, especially not one old enough to be his grandmother, he gaped at her. 

“This is Republic City, young man, and it's a new age. If the women can fight,” she smiled. “Who says the men can't heal? Does that sound fair to you?”

Kanna proved to be the teacher his father never could have been. Where his father barked orders, Kanna guided with soft words, and where a mistake made in front of him would have earned him a slap or an insult, Kanna only corrected with gentle hands. Granted, Kanna still cuffed him on occasion, but only when he deserved it, and she treated the other apprentices all the same. 

Kanna never asked, but he suspected she knew he was not coming to Republic City, he was running from the North Pole. He wasn't the only one with a past to hide, among his fellow apprentices, and he was not the only one seeking absolution. They all worked hard, and they all fell into their bunks with empty heads and aching muscles each night.

“Amon, Penna.” The name he had chosen for himself had taken getting used to, but he'd had almost two years to do it. “Those beds aren't going to get clean sheets by themselves. Get on it.” Kanna raised her eyebrows at them, and they jumped to it.

Penna was older than him by about two or three years, an outspoken and opinionated woman. She also had nasty, twisting burns up her legs that pained her in the cold. It was why she'd become a healer, she claimed. If there had been a healer there when it happened, she wouldn't have to live with that pain for the rest of her life. 

“Morning, Amon.” She piped cheerfully, as they stretched the fresh sheets over the mattress, throwing the dirty ones in the hamper. “How was the fight last night?”

He blushed, despite himself, and clever Penna raised an eyebrow before gleefully narrowing her eyes. “If I were you, I'd tie that choker a little lower today until you can get it healed. Somebody likes to bite.” His face burned, as he remembered how the man had kissed him there. “About time you got laid. People were starting to talk.”

“Nothing happened!” He replied sharply, tugging the sheets down more forcefully than needed. “And what does that mean?”

“Oh, calm down.” She said, approaching. Out of her side flask, she brought a handful of water, pressing it against his neck. There was the brief, cool sensation, then nothing. “There, all better. You know, you take everything _way_ too seriously. I was only teasing. Friends do that, you know.” 

They moved on to the next bed, and before long, they had them all set, as a few more brought in sanitized supplies, setting them up at each station with cheerful gossip. 

“Come on,” Penna said. “Let's go get started on the minor injuries, so the night shift can start heading to bed.” The night shift was probably exhausted, he thought, especially on a night after payday for many dock and factory workers, so he followed, pulling the strings on his sleeves and knotting them tight so they stayed up by his elbows where they belonged. “Don't forget your hair,” Penna reminded him, voice muffled by the hair tie she was holding in her mouth, as she gathered her own traditional braids up to the crown of her skull. 

Dutifully, he followed her example, tightening the laces around the two side tails he customarily wore. “You're getting too old for that style.” She clucked, tugging on one. “Going to have to choose some grown-up braids sooner or later.”

“Maybe I'll just chop it all off.” He replied.

"And Southern Water Tribe wears a wolf tail all their lives." At least the warriors did. Penna's family were Northerners like Amon's though, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Bite your tongue,” She hissed, in mock-offense. “You would dare defy our cultural heritage in such a way?” They entered the waiting room, and neither were surprised to find it full of people sporting bruises and cuts consistent with bar brawls and scuffles. 

It was the usual two-week routine of reminding people they didn't heal hangovers, that punching people in the face tended to end worse for your knuckles than their jaw, and that no, they would not write excuse notes to their foreman. 

These were not the only people in, of course.

“Hello, Amon.” He rolled his eyes, and shut the door to the private room behind him. “What's wrong, not happy to see me? Granted, I know I'm usually prettier, but,” He shrugged. “What can you do?”

Hwan was normally a good looking man, Earth Kingdom, though he kept his hair much finer by use of heat and oil. He was not feminine, exactly, but he was fine-featured, delicate. 

Unfortunately, that seemed to make his clients want to try to break him.

With gentle fingers, he tipped Hwan's face back, so he could get a good look at the bruising. “He broke your cheekbone.” When he summoned the water from the waiting bowl, he could feel the true extent of the damage. “And you're very lucky he didn't dislocate your whole jaw.”

“That sounds painful.”

“And yet somehow, you still manage to talk.” He mused aloud, as he surveyed the rest of the things he couldn't see with his eyes. “Your eardrum nearly shattered. What did he do to you, exactly?”

Hwan smirked carelessly. “You know how it is, some men just lose it when they get going.”

Amon rolled his eyes, and began to work. He fixed the eardrum first, taking away the swelling and smoothing everything back into place. Internal injuries like that were tricky, and it was much easier to fix it now, rather than risk it randomly bursting when he was trying to heal everything else. 

Inside his mouth, two of his teeth were loosened, so he repaired the veins and other assorted attachments, tightening them again, and reducing the swelling they had caused. Next, he soothed the swollen tendons of the jaw, cajoling them back into place before securing them again.

Hwan sighed in contentment. “Feels better already, sweetheart.”

“Don't call me that.” He said, for the hundredth time. “I'm not your client.”

“I wouldn't make you pay, you know,” Hwan replied, with a flirtatious wink. “You could consider it a thank you for all your good work.” 

“Your donation to the clinic is thanks enough.” He narrowed his eyes at Hwan in warning, because there was only so much of his flirting he would tolerate before he snapped at him. He wasn't sure why it got to him, when Hwan did it. Maybe it was because no one had ever flirted with him before, and he was never sure what he was supposed to say to him. “I hope he paid you well.” He said, non-judgmentally, trying to make peace with him.

“Yes, he did, and a generous tip was had as well.” 

Fixing the cheekbone was more precise work than anything else. If he wasn't careful, he'd set it wrong and mess up Hwan's face. But he was good at this, better than many, Kanna claimed. As gently as he could, he aligned the chi of the water with the broken lines in Hwan's bones, and carefully re-aligned them, until they were straight again. With care, he sealed the lines, then surfaced to the inflamed ones of his face. Bruising was much easier, and when he stepped back, the water sluicing without a splash into the bowl, Hwan looked as good as ever.

Sighing, Hwan ran his fingers over his face. “No joke, that is much better. I hate when they go for the face. There's no need for it, really.” 

“Anything else I should know about?” He asked, instead of responding to that. “You were torn rather badly last month.”

“And you patched me up as good as new.” Hwan leaned back on the patient's bed. “I'm fine. Been using rubbers like that old wolfbat said, and drinking lots of water.” Without turning around, he could feel Hwan look him up and down. “Something's off about you today. You're not your usual delightfully moralistic self.” 

He scowled at him, and Hwan raised one delicate eyebrow. “Oh, I see,”

“You see what?”

“Somebody is in love.” The man stripped his shirt off so he could do a full check-up, and do a follow up on his healed ribs from a week ago, Hwan grinning the whole time. “And here I was thinking you were a eunuch.” Maybe he was a bit colder in his checking than necessary, making Hwan hiss in irritation. “It was a _joke_.”

Hwan was in surprisingly good order, and his ribs were knitting perfectly, thankfully. The more intimate parts of the check-up went just as well, Hwan only bruised a little around his thighs. 

When the man was getting back into his day clothes, and Amon was sanitizing the metal bowl, Hwan asked again, more nicely this time. “So, care to share? Promise I won't tell anyone.” 

Amon checked the door before he answered. “What do you know about the fights that go on down by the docks? The non-bending ones?” 

Hwan scoffed. “Bad business, that's what. The men coming from them are always too wound up, and too broke to buy their own friend for the night.” He narrowed his eyes. “And I don't do groups. More trouble than it's worth.” His clothes were always more elaborate than Amon could see as being useful, and this was evidence, as Hwan fumbled with the complicated knotting. “Why? Don't tell me you've got your eye on a dockworker?”

“One of the fighters.” He confessed, and Hwan actually froze. 

“That's your type? Some brawler?” He shook his head. “I had you pegged all wrong.” 

“He's just interesting.” He knew he sounded unbelievably defensive, and he knew Hwan was grinning like the cat that caught the songbird. “Do you think it's a bad idea?”

When he turned, Hwan was raising a considering eyebrow at him, his clothes now on and orderly. “Those bruisers certainly aren't my idea of a good time, but to each his own. And as long as he's not bruising your oh-so-serious face, baby boy, nothing wrong with letting yourself get to know someone.” He smiled distantly, patting Amon on the cheek. “You've been here a year, kid. Time to make some friends, let yourself be human again. Whatever you did, can't be that bad. You're too nice to be a real monster.” 

Surprised, he softened to the man's touch. “How did you-?”

“We're all running from something, Amon. Some of just had to run a little further than others.” Hwan gave him his usual good-bye kiss on the cheek, and he recoiled, scowling. “I'll be sure to leave a hefty donation. See you next week, hopefully not sooner.” He waved, and stepped out. 

The rest of his patients were a blur of reckless mistakes, accidents, and hypochondriacs convinced a cold was sleeping sickness. He listened to the usual rants about immigrants bringing diseases on the ferries and ships, the claim that spirits were possessing them, and the usual homeless vagrants whose illness typically came from too many bottles and not enough water. He healed all who needed it though, without complaint, the same way he did every day.

He fell asleep in his narrow bunk feeling lighter. 

The next day, he donned his nicer, more formal whites, crisp and freshly laundered, with the blue waves drawn across the front, then put his hair in a slightly neater ponytail than usual. Annoyed as he was by it, he _was_ getting older, and it was time he chose a proper formal style for his hair. His father had favored the multiple braids worn by men in their region, and really, it was the only one he knew how to do anyway. He shook his head at the thought, and tied up the sides with his blue ties. 

He was in a group with Penna and Pasook, who was still giving him the cold shoulder. Pasook was personable though, and people were more willing to put a few yuan in the donation box when he was smiling at them. If that didn't work, Penna always had a peppy lecture about the city pulling together that either inspired them or annoyed them enough to get at least one coin.

“You could try talking,” She suggested, as they ate their packed lunches in the park. “I mean, you could just say 'hi' or something. You're such a hermit, it's pathetic. I think going out with Pasook the other night is the first time you went out since you got here.” 

“And you had a bad time anyway.” Pasook noted grumpily. “All you did was whine and then take off.” 

Penna's mouth opened to speak, and then just fell open. With a sigh, she leaned forward, chin in hand. “Hello there, gorgeous bodies.” 

Pasook and him exchanged a look, before they realized she was looking past the two of them. When they turned, they saw who she meant. The United Forces Navy was in port, and apparently having training in the park. They ran in unison down the path, most of the men shirtless despite the chill, the women in running tops that showed their stomachs. 

“Man, I hope I make the selection next year.” She sighed. “They're so damn picky.” 

Amon eyed her lunch. “You should probably stop eating all those dumplings then. You know they have weight requirements.” 

Pasook stared at him in wide-eyed horror, and the next thing he knew, Penna was in his face. “Are you calling me fat?” She screeched.

“No, I'm saying dumplings will make you fat.” He clarified, not sure why she was so angry. “And you want to be in good shape. They require medics to be just as in combat ready as everyone else.” 

She sighed, and backed off, falling over onto the blanket. “I hate running.”

“Then don't try out.” He really didn't understand her, and from the looks of it, neither did Pasook. “Actually, I did enjoy parts of that match. Is there another one coming up?”

Pasook stole one of Penna's pickled plums when she was staring at the sky. “Yeah, there's one tonight. You actually want to go?” 

“Yes,” He hoped he wasn't giving anything away on his face, but if he was, Pasook wasn't observant enough to catch it. “Who is fighting?” 

“The guy from last night, your mixed buddy, and the Komodo Rhino are the first match.” He grinned. “We'll see how well he does up against him. The guy is the size of a house.” 

“Hm.” He said, noncommittally.

That night, he stood in front of the mirror in his dorm room, carefully tying his hair back, after combing oil through it to keep it smooth. He looked nervous, though he wasn't sure why. Making out with some stranger once did not constitute this much effort, he thought, even as he took care to wear something other than his apprentice robes. He had taken to wearing greys and blues again, missing his old clothes, all left behind at the North Pole beyond what he'd been wearing that awful day.

“Hey, I'm coming with-” Penna whistled. “Check you out. Your hair actually looks good.” 

“Why do all your compliments sound like insults?” 

She crossed her arms and leaned on the doorway. “Wear the grey. Makes your eyes more intense. That'll be sure to get his attention.” He sputtered in shock, but she just raised an eyebrow. “You were obviously up to something with someone last night, no matter what you say, and you're actually thinking about your appearance. You're trying to impress someone. And since I'm sure it's not me, and we're going to a brawl, I'm pretty sure it's a guy.” 

He didn't bother to deny it, and she smirked in satisfaction when he chose the grey robe, knotting it over his white robe. It was too cold to wear one layer, even for him, and he was thankful for the thick cotton of it when they stepped out of the warm dormitories and onto the snow-covered streets. The cold cut through his old parka like a knife, and he burrowed into himself as they walked. 

“This is going to be awesome!” Pasook said, far too loudly. “The Komodo Rhino is one of the best fighters in Republic City. He's going to wipe the floor with these guys tonight! Seriously, we could make a killing!” 

Penna reminded him, with a reproachful look, “We're not supposed to bet.”

Living in the dormitories meant they had to live by certain rules, and one was that gambling was forbidden to them. Kanna believed it brought nothing but trouble to the clinic. Honestly, he didn't mind the rules. He needed them, really. They kept him focused, disciplined. 

Not that he was showing much of that lately, he thought. 

Penna and Pasook argued good-naturedly the whole way to the warehouse, where the same crowd from the night before last hovered around the entrance, the last bets being laid. _Mutt_ he heard again, as they entered, in so many voices and accents. Were they betting against, or for? 

He let Pasook push them up to the front again, his heart pounding and that strange vibration running through and making his hands shake. He curled them around the rough rope to steady them, and looked up.

The man was casually wrapping his knuckles in his corner, but he glanced up, eyes still far too blue for his pale face, and smirked. Embarrassed, and confused, he looked away, his knuckles white on the rope. 

“Um,” Penna was pulling his sleeve. “Very good-looking shirtless man approaching, and I don't think it's for me, but if you don't want him, I will _gladly_ take him off your hands.” It was muttered so fast, it sounded like one word, and he shook her off, steeling himself to look up. 

“Hello, Brat.” He greeted, and Amon's nerves went from insane to tight in a split second.

“Degenerate.” He returned. “Broken anything else?” 

The man had angled himself over Amon, using his superior height in a way that made him want to kick him in the shins. “Nope. All better.” He tugged on one of his side tails, and his face _burned_. “What's that saying they have up North? 'A kiss for all that ails you'?” 

He jerked his head away. “You'll have plenty to ail you tonight. That man looks like he could crush you.” The Komodo Rhino, in the other corner, was indeed a large man, his thigh as thick as Amon's whole body. 

The man seemed less impressed. “You think I can't take him?”

“I don't think you're nearly as tough as you think you are.”

He scoffed. “How about this, Brat, I beat him, I get a kiss for luck for the next round?”

Amon frowned, confused. “'A kiss for luck'?” 

“Yeah.” He tipped Amon's face up with a finger. “What? Are you scared?”

“You won't win.” He pulled away from the man's hand, his face on fire, and nothing inside making any sense at all. “So fine.” 

“I'm going to hold you to that, Brat.” He promised, walking back to his corner. 

Amon, confused, but livid, was sorely tempted to hit him with a water whip, not the first time he'd been tempted to use his waterbending for something other than defense or healing in the past two years, but certainly the strongest. “Stop calling me that!” 

“Oh.” Penna made a disturbing squealing noise as soon as he was out of hearing range, grabbing his arm and bouncing on the balls of her feet. “It's _him_?”

“Him what?” Pasook asked. “What is going on?”

“Spirits, you are such a _guy,_ ” Penna hissed at him, as Amon tried to free himself from her grasp. “Amon has a thing for him.” 

Pasook elbowed him, but he thought it might be in a friendly way. “Oh, now I get it. That's why you got all worked up over him last night, you're sweet on him.” 

Amon narrowed his eyes at him. “No, I genuinely find you disturbingly nationalist when you say things like that.”

“ _Right_ , buddy, right,” Amon rolled his eyes, giving up for the time being. 

“Penna, get your nails out of my skin.” He commanded, glaring down at her. At least he was taller than her. She released him to grip the rope, surprisingly excited. Did everyone know about this but him? 

“Round one!” The referee, a different man from the night before, though cut from the same short and compact mold, blew his whistle and stepped back. 

Komodo Rhino charged at the man, and for a second, he was genuinely afraid for him, but then the man jumped, higher than he would have thought he could, and kicked Komodo once, then twice in the head, landing neatly in a crouch, before sweeping his leg out, and knocking the mountainous man off his feet.

He fell with a thud that Amon swore made the ground vibrate, and laid there, dazed. He was still down after the ten count, and when the referee peered over him, he blew the whistle three times. “First round knock-out! Winner, the Mutt!” 

Around them, there was cheering from a few scattered sources, but mostly groans, as money was clearly lost by many. 

The man looked over at him, and winked.

“Um, I think that was for your benefit,” Penna whispered unnecessarily in his ear. 

“I'm _touched_ ,” He hissed back, acerbic. 

The Komodo Rhino was picked up by a few well-meaning souls from the crowd, it taking five stout men to haul him off. A man he didn't recognize, who looked out of place in his suit, and strange tattoos crawling up his bared forearms, was leaning on the blue-eyed man's corner, apparently having a conversation with him. The blue-eyed man nodded, smirking in that humorless way again, as he re-wrapped his knuckles. The tattooed stranger clapped the man on the shoulder, and backed up into the crowd, as a new contender jumped into the ring.

Pasook was beside himself with excitement. “Check it out, it's White Jade Bade! He wasn't on the roster tonight! Man, he's the best there is!”

“I thought you said Mad Dog was the best there was?”

“Only when Bade isn't around!”

Penna leaned over, so she could be heard without shouting. “What kind of name is Bade?” Amon just shrugged. He was still getting used to the diversity of names, he couldn't be expected to be able to pinpoint one so odd. 

“Hey.” The blue-eyed man was in front of him, smirking still. “I won.”Amon looked up at him, arms crossed over his chest. “Don't sulk now.” He lectured, tugging on one of his side tails again. “Hold up your end of the bargain.” 

If he had been an earthbender, he might have bended the earth open to swallow him by instinct alone, as his face burned in embarrassment. “Fine.” He nodded, and no sooner had he said it, then the man's hand cupped the side of his face, and tilted his head up, so he could swoop down and kiss him again. He didn't want to like it as much as he did, didn't want his heart to pound in his chest like it did, but none of it could be helped, as his fingers curled around the man's neck of their own accord. 

The man pulled back, not smirking now, but smiling. “That felt lucky.” He gave the side tail another quick pull, not enough to hurt, just enough to annoy. “Do I get a name, now, Brat?”

The nickname snapped him out of his hazy cloud of stupid. “Win all the fights.” He replied, crossing his arms. 

“Done deal, Brat.” With one final tug, he released him, heading to the referee, and for the first time, he became aware of the way people were _looking_. He hated it when people looked at him, but there was nothing he could do to make them stop. 

“So, I'm guessing he's sweet on you, too?” Pasook asked. 

Penna huffed. “You're so stupid, it should hurt.” 

“Your face is stupid!” He shot back.

In the ring, the referee stepped forward, and called both fighters to the center. As the referee spoke to them, reminding them of the rules, or whatever, White Jade Bade hitched his chin over in their direction, showing tobacco-yellowed teeth as he smiled. Whatever he was saying to the man, it was making his shoulders tense, the muscles tightening by just a hair. 

It was never a good idea to tense before a fight. It was one of the first things he had been taught, in the combative form of waterbending, to let the power flow through him like a conduit, not stopper it like a dam. Anxiety was a dam that destroyed the flow of strength. 

_Relax_ , he thought, despite himself. _Don't get hurt_

His thoughts weren't magic though, and when the fight started, his fighter was off step. He wasn't moving as smoothly as he usually did, that tenseness in his back obvious, inhibiting his punches, his kicks. He still landed a fair amount, but he was taking too many in return. 

He leaned forward on the rope, biting his lip, right as his fighter took a hard hit to the side. It would have bruised his ribs, that hit, would have sent a wave of pain through his whole chest, and he never had a chance to recover, as Bade struck a blow to his collarbone. 

This time, when he stayed down, he didn't think he was playing his game. 

The ten count finished, and the round went to Bade, the man walking around the ring victoriously, as his own fighter got up, leaning on his post. 

White Jade Bade hovered over their group, and to his disgust, actually grabbed one of his side tails. “So, the Mutt has himself a piece of Water Tribe tail, huh?” He leered openly, his breath sour from the cheap cigarettes that had stained his teeth. “You know, he got all bent out of shape when I asked about you. Maybe he's scared of you getting a better offer,” His voice was a growl as he got right in Amon's face. “I wouldn't mind a sweet little bit like you warming my bed.”

Amon didn't change expression. “I find it sad that people have allowed you to believe that offer is in any way tempting.” 

There was laughter around them, but before White Jade could retaliate, Pasook and Penna pulled water out of their side flasks in threat. None of them needed to say anything else, the fighter knowing when he was outmatched. Three master waterbenders against just one of him wouldn't even be much of a fight. 

As White Jade tried to regain his ground, playing off the rejection, he wove through the crowd along the edge, until he was beside his fighter. 

“I just got touched by some disgusting spider rat just so he could piss you off,” He told him, leaning over the rope. It made him considerably shorter than his fighter, but he was angry enough he didn't care as much. “If you don't win, I'll never speak to you again.” 

His fighter widened his eyes. “You barely speak to me as is, unless you're being a brat.” He came closer, and what was with people and pulling on his side tails? These people were so tactile, and rude. “I have an idea. I win all the fights, not only do I get a name, you come eat with me after. And you have a _conversation_ with me.” 

“Saying that like it's a threat doesn't make it that appealing.” He replied dryly, all too aware of how close the man was to him. 

His fighter gave his hair a sharp tug, before kissing him quickly, not giving him enough time to react. “You can even call me a 'degenerate' and lecture me. I know how you like that.” 

“We going to fight, or are you going to flirt?” White Jade Bade shouted, from the center of the ring. “I haven't got all night to kick your ass, Mutt!” 

The man, his fighter, tried to steal another kiss before he left him, but he stopped him with a hand to the chest. “Win.” He ordered.

“Brat,” He replied, though it sounded almost fond at this point, and went to the center of the ring. 

He didn't dare move back to Penna and Pasook, watching the fight from his fighter's corner, fingers digging into the old wood of the post. The man was loose again, to his relief, and when the round was announced, his fighter was himself again. White Jade was still strong, but he was nothing but a hardheaded brawler with more bulk than brains, in the end. His fighter had been trained by someone, and trained well. Some of the movements were almost familiar to him, almost. Mostly, the way he dodged. There was a flow to it that sparked something in his mind, but he couldn't quite work out what it was. 

His fighter won with a succession of hits that Bade was too slow to stop, and the man seemed stunned as he laid on the dirty floor. 

“Well, well, you are an inspiration, aren't you?” A voice asked, entirely too close to his ear. He started, moving aside so he could see the speaker. 

It was the tattooed man from before. This close, he could smell his cologne, musky and almost overpowering. Something expensive, but too much had been applied. He had never seen anyone with tattoos like that. It was a blue dragon, winding around his arm and breathing lightning, not fire. “He's better than Bade.”

The man smiled. “True. But you've got him all wound up.” He didn't touch Amon, thankfully, but he got the feeling if he wasn't so standoffish, he would have put a hand on his shoulder, or something. He seemed like the type who wanted to create that false air of intimacy. “What's your name?” 

“I haven't given it to him. What makes you think I'd give it to you?” 

The tattooed man actually laughed. “You're a snarky little thing, aren't you? I didn't think that was his type.”

“His type?” He wasn't sure if he should be offended by that. It was the term Hwan had used yesterday, but he wasn't sure what it _meant_ exactly. 

“Figured he'd want himself someone a little sweeter.” He shrugged carelessly. “Guess he likes more of a challenge.” 

The third round had started, he realized, Bade already back on his feet, and clearly not wanting a break. He was angry, and that pleased Amon. Angry people fought poorly. His fighter would have no trouble in this round. 

The tattooed man was still speaking. “So, what do you do for a living?”

It was almost instinctive, to answer, but something in him demanded caution. “Factory work.” He lied, and the tattooed man nodded. 

“Right.” He didn't believe him, but he wasn't going to question it either. “I do something like that.” Amon didn't believe him either. “My name is Chang, but everyone calls me Zolt.” He nodded at his tattoo. “Lightning Bolt Zolt.”

He nodded, but didn't give any false platitudes of it being a pleasure. 

The referee blew the whistle.

“Round three goes to the Mutt! Two fighters down, three more to fight! Looks like it might be more than beginner's luck, am I right?” The crowd roared their approval, as Zolt pushed past Amon to the ropes. When his fighter came over, Zolt pulled his head down so he could whisper something in his ear. His fighter nodded, and Zolt grinned at him as he pulled away, patting him on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd. 

The blue eyes were on him, making his face burn with the intensity of the look. As he got closer, his fighter reached over the rope, grabbed him by the belt of his robes, and yanked him into his space. The rope dug into his belly as they kissed, his hands finding their spot on the nape of his fighter's neck. The heat from before, the vertigo that made his stomach feel like it was flipping even as he struggled not to shake, it was all back, even stronger now.

When his fighter released him, he heard the whistles and jeers. Furious and humiliated, he pushed at him. “Go, Degenerate.” 

He made his way back to Pasook and Penna, and shoved the other boy hard when he realized he was one of the whistlers. “Touchy,” He muttered, rubbing his shoulder. 

The next fight was over in a matter of seconds, another first round knockout. The fourth only made it to the second round, and again, it occurred to him that his fighter was holding back, waiting for something. Why? 

The fifth fight was just as strange. Maybe it was because he himself had been trained so extensively, unlike these people around him. He knew what it looked like when someone was saving strength, when someone was analyzing another. 

The last match's opponent was a man taller than his fighter, and leaner, giving him the appearance of a scarecrow. He fought under the moniker Sea Raven, and had a large black tattoo up his back of the bird, with a clutch of arrows in its claws. 

His fighting style was actually a style, granted, a poorly learned one. It was Southern Water Tribe combat, but without a weapon, it was off-balance to his eye. It was better than everyone else he'd seen so far, but his fighter made the man look laughable, to someone like him, like a child imitating a master.

The understanding hit like lightning. His fighter was using Southern Water Tribe combat, weaponless style, unlike the Sea Raven. He'd been trained by a master of it. Amon only knew it because three of the men in his village were from the sister tribe, but he was sure it was the same, if not somehow modified. There was more offense than he remembered, more hard, direct hits meant to incapacitate, but the liquid way he moved was Water Tribe.

Sea Raven never stood a chance. His fighter was playing with him, letting him win the first round, then narrowly winning the second when he could have easily beaten him only a minute in. It was in the third round that he stopped his game, and took the Sea Raven down hard, possibly dislocating his shoulder. 

Declared victor to much unhappy groaning from the gamblers, and loud cheering from the drunken spectators, he took the purse with a smirk. 

“Looks like you owe someone a name,” Penna sing-songed, as Pasook winked at him. “Guess we won't be seeing you tonight.” 

He was suddenly tempted to grab onto her, as they left the warehouse to escape the arguing, make her stay with them and keep him out of trouble. He'd already shown he lacked any kind of restraint around the man, and he wasn't eager for a repeat of his previous embarrassment. 

“Penna.” He called weakly, and she stopped her giggles, Pasook getting waylaid by someone he knew. She tipped her head at him, smiling curiously, but then realization dawned on her from the way he fidgeted miserably. 

“You'll be fine, Amon. You've already been yourself around him, and he still likes you.” She said this like it was a surprise. “I mean, _I_ like you, but you're really bossy and weird.” She poked him in a friendly sort of way. “Like, _really_ bossy. And you're always moping.”

“I forget, are you my friend?” 

“It's not like it's easy, you don't really seem to want friends.” The wind blew bitterly over them, and she hurriedly pulled her hood up. “He's the first person I've ever seen you show emotion around, really.” She pulled the laces of her hood, so it stayed in place. Unlike him, Penna favored modern fashions in her clothing, and she looked Republic City born and bred. “Look, I don't know why you're here, and I'm not going to ask. But I guess you're hiding from something, same as the rest of us. And it seems to me like you're punishing yourself by being the way you are.” She shrugged. “It's time you started living again.”

Pasook rejoined them before he could reply, and he and Penna left him, waving good-bye over their shoulders as they headed back to the dorms. 

Waiting in the cold, he looked up at the falling snow, and thought about Tarrlok. He missed his little brother, he could admit, but the thought of being back at the North Pole made him feel sick. The last time he had been as free as he was here in Republic City was before he had discovered he was a waterbender, before the harsh training and constant berating started. Before he felt like he had to shelter Tarrlok from the worst of it, and take it on himself, no matter how heavy his father's approval, his father's legacy, weighed on him. He'd spent so long being miserable.

“Hey,” The now familiar voice of his fighter was in his ear, the man back in that odd coat, a hat pulled over his head. “Let's go.”

“Amon.” He said, before he could change his mind. “People call me Amon.” 

“That's a weird name.” His fighter said, as they walked down the street, heading off into the market district, it looked like. “Not your real one, is it?”

“It is now.” He answered, with a shrug. “I'm not who I was, anymore. So I have a new name.” 

His fighter seemed to accept that answer, at least, as he led them into a small tea shop, lanterns still aglow. Inside was warm, and smelled like food, making his stomach grumble, though he'd eaten supper with the rest of the apprentices earlier in the evening. “Oh,” his fighter paused, as they sat. “Do you eat Fire Nation food?”

“Not yet.” He had never eaten outside of the dormitory kitchens, and since the staff was almost completely Water Tribe and Foggy Swamp Tribe, all the food fit. He'd eaten Earth Kingdom fare while traveling through there, of course, but he hadn't thought much of it. He hadn't been thinking about food at all, back then.

His fighter ordered for them, thankfully. The only thing he knew about Fire Nation food was those awful fire flakes Penna loved so much. 

When they had tea, he felt brave enough to ask. “Is it your mother or your father? The one from the Southern Water Tribe?” His fighter looked impressed. “Southern Water Tribe combat forms differ only a little from Northern, but it's significant. The placement of the feet, the way you favor your left and not your right, despite being right-handed.” He nodded at the hand holding the teacup. “And they fight lower, going for more accurate hits, instead of the most damaging.” 

“I knew you weren't just a healer. You went for smacking me the other night way too fast.” He smirked over his tea. “Mom is from the Southern Water Tribe. She was a warrior, you're right, but not a bender. She taught me as best she could.”

“What does that mean?” The waiter put down a plate. The food on it was something fried, dough rolled flat and wrapped like a present around whatever was within. Cautiously, he tried one, and was relieved by how much he liked it. Some kind of meat, what, he couldn't get, and vegetables shredded thin. 

“Mom's leg was damaged really badly, before I was born. She can't stand on it long. It's worse as she's gotten older.” 

“War?” He asked.

“No, my parents were born at the end of the Hundred Year War. No, it was something else.” A bowl of noodles was put in front of him, and he started eating. “Dad was in the Fire Nation Navy. Mom and him met when Fire Lord Zuko had them down in the South Pole helping replenish their own navy's ships and supplies. 'Course, they had to leave the South Pole to get married. Settled down outside the city.” 

His fighter smiled at him, and kept eating, making him feel the awkwardness of the silence. He was clearly expecting something in return.

“I'm from the North Pole.” He said, trying to figure out what he could say, what was safe. “I can't go back. Ever.” 

“Why? Did you kill someone?”

Amon narrowed his eyes at him. “You're entirely too casual about that.” 

His fighter just shrugged, clearly not caring one way or the other. “Did you?” 

“No.” He looked down at the old table, the scratches worn deep, the characters of someone's name determinedly carved in on the edge. “Not directly.” Tarrlok, left alone to suffer, and his mother, left to mourn him. “I just...I can't.” He shook his head. “He wasn't going to be happy until we were all dead.” Souls sacrificed for revenge, a revenge that wasn't even his, that he didn't want. Forced to hurt animals, their small hearts beating in panic and fear as he manipulated them, forced to hurt his own brother, make him cry out in pain. All for a man he should never have been afraid of, or loved. 

His fighter said nothing for a moment, but when he did speak, there was something there that had never been there before. He was always laughing at him, it felt like, judging him and finding him wanting, finding them all wanting, but now there was something very serious in his voice. Something personal. “My mom can't go back either. They told her so, when I was about five, maybe six. This old lady, I didn't know who she was then, but I know she was my mom's mother now, she came all the way here. Mom already needed her cane all the time, by then. She smelled like salt, I remember, and she wore this white and blue parka, like yours. She told my mom that if I had been born a bender, maybe she would have considered accepting my mother back into the family. Called me a 'mutt'. Mom yelled at her, and she left, and then Mom just cried and made me promise to never tell Dad the lady had been there.” 

The way he said it made Amon think that this was the first time he had ever said any of it to anyone. It was at once too much, and not enough. He wanted to know everything about this man, but at the same time, it terrified him. He had known from the beginning that this man carried weight, and the heaviness on his own shoulders had been almost more than he could bear for too long. He didn't know if he was ready to know someone else's. 

He traced the carving absentmindedly. “That's why your fighting is so direct. Your father is a firebender. You're using his style too.” It came from the back of his mind to fill the silence. 

“You're observant. And a master waterbender, if you can spot differences in styles like that.”

Amon shrugged. “My father used to make us practice for hours, every day, until we were perfect.” It slipped out before he could stop it, and his fighter caught it.

“'We'?”

Unsure of what to say, he pressed the pads of his fingers harder into the carving. “I had a little brother.” He didn't deserve the title of brother anymore. No older brother would have left someone as soft as Tarrlok behind, to bear the brunt of his father's rage alone. A real brother would have forced him along, would have saved him no matter what. Tarrlok should be right here with him, learning to heal, or working with the waterworks factories, the people who brought clean water to the city. If he had been a good older brother, Tarrlok would be safe and happy. 

“So did I.” His fighter said, after he'd finished his noodles. “Only a year younger. He was a firebender, like Dad.” He laid his chopsticks across his bowl and pushed it to the edge of the table. “The Agni Kai Triad tried to recruit him, when he first came to the city. He said no, and they,” He laughed. “They didn't like that. I don't think they meant to kill him, just scare him into saying yes. But they did. Stupid little ass held on for three days, just to be stubborn.” 

Amon wasn't sure what to say. “I'm sorry.” 

His fighter shook his head dismissively. “Don't be.” 

He wondered if he should ask, but he was confused. “What's the Agni Kai Triad?” 

Now his fighter just laughed, and that tangle of emotions within found a definite one to hold onto: anger. “I could always just leave, you know.” When his fighter kept laughing, he stood to leave, but he grabbed him as he walked past, pulling him back. “Stop it,” He ordered, trying to pull out of his grip, but his fighter was physically stronger than him by a lot. It had been a long time since he'd pulled a hunting sled, and it was starting to show. 

“You're so serious. How do you live like that?” 

“Better than never taking anything seriously,” He replied smartly, his face hot again. Tui and La, this man always made him so angry. “You're just playing with me, aren't you?” He slipped out of the man's grip, pulling his parka over his head and his gloves back on as he walked. Outside the restaurant, he breathed out hard in the cold air, trying to stop his hands from shaking in anger. 

“Hey,” The man had caught up to him, his own parka pulled on, but his hands still bare. “C'mon, I didn't mean anything by it. It was just...” He sighed, and ran his bare hand through his hair. “I don't like thinking about him, anymore. He was my little brother, and I fucked up.” 

Amon stepped forward, and took his fighter's bare hands in his gloved ones, seeing how they were already reddening from cold. “I know the feeling.” 

Feeling whatever had happened was now forgiven, he released him, and his fighter stuck his hands in his pockets as they walked. “I'll heal you.” Amon offered, worried about the hits he'd seen him take in the second match. “So you don't have to go to the clinic tomorrow.” 

“I'm not going to say no.” They didn't speak the rest of the way, concentrating on navigating the snowy, and soon to be icy, street. 

The apartment was the same as before, only this time, he didn't hesitate to take off his outer wear and get the water himself. Instead of using the tap, he opened the window, and summoned some out of the fresh snow. Call it snobbery, but he still preferred it. 

The healing was simpler, only bruising this time. 

And this time, when his fighter kissed the inside of his wrist, he wasn't surprised. “It was too fast.” He muttered, as the man worked his way up. “That time before, you went too fast.” 

“Okay, slow, got you,” 

On the bed, he found himself in the man's lap, and not at all sure how he got there. He was terrified of doing something wrong, of showing how little he actually knew about this kind of thing. It felt so good though, to touch like this, the man's hands on his lower back, working their way up to the sensitive area between his shoulder blades, or cupping his jaw, holding him still when he felt like he was going to fall apart.

He felt startlingly young, for the first time in so long. He had felt ancient and weary since he was a child, since the burden of everything fell on him, but here, in the darkness of this room, in his fighter's arms, he felt like he was just seventeen again, just a boy, just beginning. 

His fighter's hips moved under his, and it was so easy to just go along with it, like the waves crashing on the shore, over and over. He barely knew what he wanted, only that this relieved the ache and want, while at the same time building it up further, a strange contradiction he didn't understand. He whispered, “Please,” into the other's man's skin, and barely recognized his own voice, his own neediness leaking in and making it shake. 

When he came, it almost scared him from the intensity. It was nothing like when it was just himself, just his own hand. It felt brand new and overwhelming, and far too much. He opened his eyes to the ceiling, and realized he had thrown his head back in surprise at it.

His fighter's head was buried in his neck, and he turned his own face down as much as possible, raking his fingers through his fine black hair, nails scratching his scalp, his other hand still clutching the man's back. His breath was hard into his skin, loud, as his hips pushed up, and when he finally followed, Amon kissed his hair, his forehead, before he reached his mouth. 

It should not have felt as innocent as it did, but somehow, it was the sweetest kiss he'd ever given or received.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Your kind and/or critical reviews are appreciated.


	3. We are the wild youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Amon learns a few things about his fighter, and the city at large. The other things he learns: it's okay to smile again.

“I should go back.” He said, quietly, even as a hand traced his spine. Shoulders shouldn't make good pillows, he thought, not with all the muscle and tendon and bone. His fighter's shoulder seemed built to hold his head though. 

He still had an arm thrown across the man's bare chest, could feel every rise and fall of breath. He felt he should move it, should get up and set himself to rights, pull his parka and shoes on. He should leave. 

In a minute, he thought, as the man's fingers touched his hairline. 

“What does your hair look like down?” The other hand was tugging on a side tail again. 

He finally took his arm off the man's chest to bat him away. “Stop doing that. It's rude to touch people's hair.” He had come to understand that wasn't the case in the Earth Kingdom, and it musn't be the case in the Fire Nation either, considering how many of them were constantly touching each other.

Sounding amused, his fighter asked, “So, I can make you come, but I can't touch your hair?” 

Embarrassed, he hid his face in the man's shoulder for a minute, before sitting up. Carefully, he pulled out his wolf tail, sliding the tie over his wrist, then undid the laces of his blue ties. He placed them on the window sill, then combed his fingers through his hair, much coarser than his fighter's, until it hung as straight as it ever did, his fingers slick with the oil he used in it. 

He didn't look at his reaction, choosing to play with the tie on his wrist. It wasn't a big social taboo to have his hair loose in front of a stranger, it was just one of those many small cultural differences that set the Water Tribe apart. Hair was worn loose with only family, usually, at least with the Northerners. 

He'd never had it down in front of somebody else. 

His fighter sat up. “Can I touch it?” He was clearly mocking him, and even in the darkness, his face had to be red, but he still nodded. It was an odd sensation, to have someone else's fingers actually in his hair, on his scalp, and he was surprised at how it made him shiver. “What's this stuff in it?”

“Oil. It'll dry out if I don't take care of it.” His fighter actually leaned forward, burying his face in it, and he started, nearly pulled away, but the man kept him still with his other arm. 

His fighter inhaled. “Smells like spice, this close.” The oil he used here was different than what he had used at home. Oil at home smelled like nothing, really, but here, it was impossible to find anything that hadn't had some kind of perfume added. “Longer than I thought it was.” The arm holding him in place tightened, and the fingers started playing with the ends. He inhaled again, his nose against Amon's scalp. “So, no one touches your hair but you?”

“And you, right now.” He grumbled, torn between wanting to shove him off and do his hair back up, and just letting him continue, because the intimacy of it, the way he seemed so entranced by something so small, it was a little heady for him. 

His fighter suddenly dragged his short nails against the nape of his neck, and he gasped from the foreign feeling. “Don't,” He faltered on the word, and he just knew his fighter was grinning. “I mean it, no.” He put his hand up against his fighter's chest, pushing. When he did that, the man stopped, and sat back on his hands. 

Without turning his eyes off the rumpled blankets, he could still tell he was being looked at. “What?”

“I like it down.” 

“Good for you.” He snapped, starting to gather it back up into the wolf tail. A hand on his wrist stopped him. 

“Just leave it down for a little bit.” He smiled, and it was pretty obvious he was trying to be charming. “Please?” 

“Look, you have manners. Shocking.” His hands dropped though, and his hair fell back around his shoulders. It was strange, to have it down somewhere other than the bathhouse or his dorm room, and oddly enough, he thought it felt more naked than if his clothes were off. 

His fighter's hands at the belt of his robes made him freeze, and revise that last thought. “No,” He tried to get his fingers off, but his fighter was stronger, and even he knew his protest was half-hearted at best. But once he had the belt undone, he did nothing else. 

His fighter leaned forward, his mouth by Amon's ear as he played with the opening of the garment. “Say yes.” Amon shook his head, but still made no move to stop his fighter. He was embarrassed, and felt so awkward, so ignorant. He wanted to feel his fighter's hands on his bare skin, wanted to press to him, even if he wasn't at all sure what he was supposed to do after that. That was the problem. He hated not having control of a situation and himself, and here, with his fighter's eyes on him, he felt completely lost. He wanted, but he didn't know what it was he was wanting. 

And he would never know if he didn't concede a little control. 

With shaking hands, he pushed the two layers over his own shoulders, and pulled off the sleeves. Naked to the waist, with his hair down, he didn't know what to do with himself. The burst of resolve that had helped him disrobe was gone as quickly as it had come, and now he was just afraid. He felt small, next to his fighter, still growing into himself, still short and skinny like the teenager he was, whereas his fighter was clearly full grown and settled into himself. He was just a child playing an adult's game, by contrast.

He bit his lip. “How old are you?” 

“Twenty.” He kissed Amon's bare shoulder. 

He nodded. “I'm seventeen.” Seventeen, and without a clue.

“I guessed you about there.” Another kiss to his shoulder raised goosebumps. “Is this important?” A third kiss, to his neck, right below the choker. His fingers found their way under Amon's hair, to the ties of the choker. “Can I take this off?”

“Let me,” Eager for something to concentrate on, he twisted it around, so he could undo the complicated lacing of it. It felt weird, to have it off, the braiding almost a part of his skin at this point in his life. “My mother made it for me. When I turned fourteen. I killed my first polar leopard.” 

“It's funny.” He took it from Amon, placed it somewhere he didn't see through the shield of his hair. “I keep forgetting you're actually a fighter.” Amon scowled at him. “But then you make that face, like you want to bash my head in with a club, and I remember.” He laid back on the bed, but Amon stayed sitting up, pulling his knees up so he could sit with his legs crossed. “Why are you a healer?” 

Amon looked at the quilt. “Why do you care?” 

His fighter huffed. “Spirits, you're like talking to a thorn bush.” He pulled on Amon's arm. “Just come here.” 

He shook his head. “I should leave.” 

His fighter sighed noisily, and sat back up. Before he could stop him, he threw his arms around Amon and pulled him back down on the bed. In vain, he struggled, despite how good it felt, their bare skin pressed together enough to make his heart pound. He gave in to it, after far too short a time to be respectable, and let his fighter settle him back into the crook of his arm, wrapping the blankets up around them in the chilly room. 

“Go to sleep.” He ordered. 

He didn't dignify it with an answer, but he did close his eyes, and slide his arm back across his fighter's chest, under the thick quilts. Despite his anxiously beating heart, under the rhythm of the man's breath, he fell asleep. 

He woke at his usual time, right at sunrise, the habit far too ingrained to be broken. Today was shift change, so he'd be working the evening, instead of the morning. He wouldn't be missed just yet. 

Somehow, they had come untangled in their sleep.

His fighter snored, a little. Not nearly as bad as his first roommate at the clinic though.

Or Tarrlok. Tarrlok could wake the dead. 

He climbed out of bed quietly, and found his first layer, the white cotton. He pulled his hair back up into the wolf tail, before slipping out the door, still in his bare feet. The hallway at least had some kind of heating system. Hot water pumped through in-laid pipes, he felt, with a hand against the wall. Run from a central system in the middle of the neighborhood. 

Republic City, he mused, was the most confusing place he'd ever been. In the North, his waterbending was meant to be a weapon, and nothing more. Here, he'd seen it used the same way, by the petty criminals, and the people who frequented workers like Hwan, who used their bending to push around people they saw as less than themselves. Yet, at the same time, it was here he had been taught to be a healer, here the free clinics operated on the good will and money of its inhabitants. It was here that he saw firebending used to build, instead of destroy, here he saw earthbending used to protect instead of harm, and here that he saw combinations like this mix of all three, used to heat a home. 

What did all of it mean, in the end?

In the hall bathroom, he took out his wolf tail, and did it again, neater, before tying off his side tails. His mouth tasted like sleep still, even after he washed it out with some water, and he felt grimy from the close contact with the less than hygienic masses from last night. He didn't have a residency token to use the shower to wash though. Staying overnight with someone was an awful lot of trouble, wasn't it? 

He could at least waterbend the water from the sink over his body, after he stripped down, carefully hanging his things on the side. Last night, and Tui and La, his face burned just thinking about that, had left evidence against his skin and pants. He waterbended it away, and out of his clothes, drawing the wet out of the fabric easily. He dressed again, and left, a resident waiting patiently, half-asleep, by the door. 

“Sorry,” He apologized. 

“No trouble.” The woman, Earth Kingdom it looked, said with a shrug, slipping in behind him. 

Back in the apartment, his fighter was still sound asleep, now on his stomach, burrowed into the spot he'd left. 

Was he supposed to leave now? He wasn't sure. 

There was a sound on the bed. “Pillow smells like you.” His fighter mumbled, before pushing himself up. The morning light fighting its way through the closed window highlighted the musculature of his arms just enough to make Amon swallow dryly, as he tried desperately to keep himself unfazed on the outside. 

“It's the oil from my hair.” He replied, still trying to figure out what to do with himself. “It gets on everything.” 

“Wasn't complaining.” His fighter sat up, and stretched, his eyes closed from the effort. His abdominal muscles stretched with him, pectorals tight when he cracked his back. He was well-built, with the benefit of being taller than the average man, longer-limbed too, giving him an advantage from the start in a fight. Still though, all that power and skill had been earned through hours upon hours of training. No one got that good without working for it.

The blue eyes were open, and watching him. 

Mortified that he had been caught looking, he turned his eyes somewhere else. He didn't know what to do with any of this. He couldn't remember ever feeling drawn to anyone like he was to this man, couldn't remember ever feeling this kind of heat inside for anyone. His fighter made him angry, embarrassed, and unsure of himself. He made him _feel_. 

He made a sound he refused to admit to, as his fighter's fingers kneaded into the base of his spine. He hadn't even heard him get off the bed, he'd been so distracted. “You're kind of weird.” His fighter chuckled. “And bossy.”

“You let you people hit you in the face for fun, and I'm weird?” He asked, his voice even, thankfully. 

“Hey, I get paid, in case you didn't notice.” He nodded at the pile of bills on the table. “It's easy money. I'm a good fighter. Always have been.”

“You are.” He agreed, as his fighter's arm crept around his waist, pulled his back against his hard chest. The other hand tugged on one of his side tails teasingly, until he turned and glared at him. “I told you, it's-”

When did people first start to kiss, he wondered, as his hands came up of their own free will to cup his fighter's face, and why was such a simple gesture so important? He'd had kisses before, had kissed men better looking than his fighter, better mannered than his fighter. None of them made him feel like _this_ though, none of them made him press his body closer, let his back arch under one wide hand while rising on his toes to be closer, so that he was so far off balance he'd fall without the other to support him. 

When had he ever trusted another like this? 

He came back down on his feet as they parted, and to his utter humiliation, when he exhaled, his breath was frosty. He hadn't let his emotions control his bending since he was a child, and such a lapse made him cringe. 

His fighter followed him down, stealing another kiss. “Do that again.” He said. “The ice thing.” When he kissed him again, Amon cautiously let the temperature drop for his own mouth. Saliva was just water, after all, and it was a trick he'd been able to do at eight, when he'd frozen another boy's tongue to the roof of his mouth for shoving Tarrlok. 

They parted again, his fighter's breathing a little heavier, as one hand found its way underneath the robe. “So how good do I have to be to get you naked in that bed right now?” He asked, pulling him back up against him, so Amon could feel every inch of his body. His own breath caught in his chest as he realized just what he was feeling against his stomach. 

“I have to leave soon,” He swallowed, trying not to do anything humiliating. 

His fighter's mouth was on his neck, and he made a sound when he started to bite, the pain not pain at all. “We can be _really_ fast,”

Someone was knocking on the door. “Hey,” The person on the other side called. “Wake up, you lazy mutt.”

His fighter released him with a frustrated groan, and Amon secured his first robe as he hurriedly found his top layer and belt. The door was opening as he wound it around his waist, and his face burned at the loaded silence. 

“Didn't know you had _company_.” It was the man from before, with the strange dragon tattoos. He raised his eyebrows at Amon, openly leering. “Hello, Inspiration. Good to see you again.” Embarrassed, Amon nodded at him, but didn't lie. 

His fighter leaned across the doorway, blocking him from view. “What do you want, Zolt?” 

“Your schedule.” Zolt handed his fighter a piece of paper. “And I was going to buy you breakfast, for doing such a good job, but it looks you already had it.” He was pretty sure that the man meant _him_ , and in an indecent way. “Any good?”

“I was taught that bragging about what you have to the less fortunate is rude.” His fighter replied. “Especially when they couldn't have it.” There was warning there, he noticed, as he put his shoes on. 

“Message received, mutt.” 

He got his parka on, his gloves in his pockets, and slipped past the two of them. “Hey,” His fighter grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?” 

“I told you, I have to leave. I'm on evening shift this week. I have to get cleaned up, and do my chores around the dorms, and other stuff before it starts.” His fighter frowned in obvious disappointment, before pulling him close and kissing him on the forehead. 

“Bye,” He huffed, and released Amon. 

He could hear chuckling behind him, and a disbelieving, “That's what you like? Really?” 

“I thought I heard something about breakfast.” His fighter replied, and then they were out of earshot, as he hurried down the steps. 

Even with his wash, he felt gross, as he walked down the street. He wanted a proper bath, not just a shower, but the dorms didn't have those, and he couldn't afford a bathhouse. He had been putting his small wages aside as much as possible for the past few months in an attempt to use one on his weekly day off, but it was harder in practice than theory, especially since he needed a new parka. 

Right on cue, the wind cut through it, and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. Being a firebender had benefits, he thought, as he enviously watched a small group of black-haired, fair-skinned children, on their way to school, not one wearing more than a light jacket and hat. 

He reached the dorms quickly enough, and hurried up to his floor. His roommate was gone, the other boy on a different rotation, so he didn't have to handle any kind of interrogation before he finally got into the shower. 

The hot water felt wonderful on his cold skin, as he quickly scrubbed and washed yesterday's oil out of his hair. He was fast enough that he was able to simply sit and enjoy the water for a whole five minutes before his allowance was up. It had taken getting used to, the water restrictions. In the North, there was more than enough water to be had for everyone, and even in the Earth Kingdom, he had been in coastal towns. 

Here though, clean water had to be regulated to make sure everyone had enough to drink, cook with, and clean with. Yue Bay was saltwater, and though enough master waterbenders could bend the salt out, someone with a bit more creativity had developed a system of aquifiers that didn't require benders. It was complicated though, and purification was just the first step towards supplying the city.

Back home, they had just melted snow. 

He really missed baths, he thought, as the water turned off. 

He toweled his hair off, and combed fresh oil through before putting it up properly. Once that was done, he opened the privacy curtain, and went about the rest of his routine.

When he stepped out in fresh clothes, feeling better, he found Penna waiting for him, smiling smugly. 

“Please tell me you are just getting back.” 

“Why do I get the feeling you already know?” He asked, annoyed. “Aren't you supposed to be heading down to the kitchens?” She made a face at him, as she followed him down the hallway. 

“One of my hair ties snapped.” She was not going to budge on the subject, he could tell that much. “So, how was it? Is he any good?” 

Amon almost wanted to ask what she meant by that. It was the same thing Zolt had said, and she had that same look on her face, like she was implying something lewd. But he didn't know that he wanted to show his own ignorance to her. He didn't want her to laugh at him anymore. So he said nothing, and she sighed, frustrated with him.

He was on kitchen with her, as it turned out, and after they'd scrubbed out all the dirty dishes, pots, and pans, cleaned the counters, floors, and ovens, and restocked the iceboxes, their shift started in the clinic itself. He preferred kitchen, over all the other chores, especially laundry. No one liked laundry, though. 

Night shift was hard to adjust to. Typically, he just went without sleep for a day to force his body to the correct schedule, but spending the night with his fighter had messed up his whole routine. He'd have to hope he was exhausted enough after this shift to just collapse. If not, he could give in and ask for the sedative for mixing in with tea from the pharmacy. 

His patients were the usual night shift, more people who couldn't do anything in moderation, parents worried over everything from a case of sniffles to fevers that actually warranted concern. Two more children with croup came in, and he made note of it in the register. If there was another case of it going around, the clinics around the city needed to set up their steaming and cooling rooms again, and make sure volunteers were brought in. Firebenders were excellent in cases of croup. They could keep the rooms heated with little trouble, saving the healers for cases they could actually help with. There were a few in this clinic, but more would be helpful. 

After five more cases came in, he made another note for them to contact the fire department, and ask if they could borrow a few trainees. The clinics and the other public sector jobs tended to work together, in things like this. Amon found it comforting, feeling like they were all pulling together for the good of the city. None of their jobs paid well, and none were very well looked-upon, seen as working class, but still, people signed up and did their jobs as best they could, wanting to contribute. 

“Amon?” The desk attendant got his attention. “There's someone in the third room asking for you specifically.” 

He frowned, confused, but when he saw Hwan, he knew why. “I thought I wasn't going to see you until next week.” He reminded him.

For once, Hwan had no answering quip. Instead, he pointed to his side. “I can't lift my arm.” He hissed.

As gently as he could, Amon got him out of his robe, until he could see the problem.

“How did you get here?” 

“Some of us can afford cabs, darling.” Hwan managed, but it lacked his usual sardonic charm. “Have I ever mentioned I don't like earthbenders?” 

Almost the entire left side of his rib cage was in pieces. The fact he hadn't punctured a lung was amazing, and when Amon felt out the damage, he saw that there was one that was dangerously close to doing so. “Lie back,” He instructed, helping him so that nothing was hurt any further. “Try to breathe evenly, and shallowly, until I tell you it's alright.” 

Hwan did as asked, breathing from the top of his lungs instead of the bottom, as Amon worked. Aligning the chi lines in the ribs was difficult, since they were sometimes hard to distinguish from the many others in this part of the body. He managed though, with careful concentration, and after he'd set the first few, he told Hwan it was safe to breathe a little more naturally. When he was finished, he ran his hands over the area, just to make sure. Ribs were tricky, and he wanted to be positive he hadn't missed anything. 

“Earthbenders,” Hwan muttered. “Always such ruffians.” 

“Why did you take him as a client, then?” Call it morbid curiousity. Hwan's profession was not unknown to him, even before he had come to the city, but he still didn't quite understand why someone who was obviously as educated and at least originally affluent like Hwan would become a prostitute. “I thought you chose them?”

“Yes, well, things change.” Hwan gave him a dark look. “Haven't you heard? My house is under new management. As is everything east of Market Street.” 

“What does that mean?”

“It means there's a new boss in town, and he's not at all like the old boss.” When Amon continued to look confused, Hwan sighed. “My business used to be in Agni Kai Triad territory. The new little batch of hooligans ran them out though, so now the house is owned by the Triple Threat Triad.” He sneered. “ _Terribly_ creative name, really. I have such high hopes for my future.”

Amon bit his lip. “What are those? Agni Kai and Triple Threat?”

The man rolled his eyes. “Oh, baby, I forget, you don't interact with the outside world. Well, let me break it down for you. Used to be, there were three big groups of bullies in this town. Triads are organized criminals, and the three games in this town were of course the three kinds of benders that have more than two in existence. Agni Kai Triad are firebenders. Red Monsoon, they're waterbenders. And it used to be the earthbenders had their own Triad, in their own little territory just west of me.”

“What happened?”

“Not sure.” Hwan said, shaking his head. “Suddenly, there's some new blood around, and they kicked out the old bosses. Brought in more benders. _Other_ benders. Thus, the new name, 'Triple Threat'. Aren't they clever?” He sneered. “And they just made a big power play. Agni Kai went running with their tails between their legs.” 

Amon was trying to remember everything Hwan was saying, and work out more detail later, maybe from his fighter. “What does all of this have to do with you?”

“Sweetheart, my house is now theirs, not the Agni Kai's. Agni Kai was our...” He seemed to mull over his choice of phrase. “Let's call them management. They kept the trash out, while taking a significant cut of our earnings. We were also required to show our appreciation to all members, regardless of our personal preferences.” He made a face. “And now, like I said, new management. Disgusting. I wonder if it's a requirement that earthbenders all be covered in dirt? No, what I have to do is become someone's favorite, if I want to avoid _this_ ,” He indicated his ribs, “In the future.” 

Hwan stood, and got his clothes back on, frowning at Amon as he did so. “Hey,” He reached out and almost touched Amon's neck. “Where's that choker thing you wear?” 

Amon's hand flew to his throat, as he realized it was still bare for the first time. He groaned, upset with himself. He was so used to it being on, he hadn't noticed it was gone. “I left it at his apartment.”

“Hello, does my dear little healer have a beau?” Amon didn't know that word, and he frowned. Hwan, more adept at reading facial cues than most, picked up on it. “I don't know what you Northerners call it. Hm. Person you see, eat dinner with, have sex with...” He blushed, and Hwan raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, did I hit a nerve?” 

“We're not doing that.” He didn't think what they'd done counted. They hadn't even gotten out of their clothes. “But yes, the other things. He just wanted to see me with my hair down, and this off.” 

“Hm, Northern Water Tribe boy like you putting your hair down,” He grinned. “You must like him.” He raised an eyebrow. “So why no sex? Lack of opportunity, propriety, or,” His grin turned sly. “Lack of knowledge?” 

Amon glowered at him, and Hwan laughed. “Oh, poor baby. You have no idea what you're doing, do you?” 

Miserable under Hwan's knowing look, he went for honesty, and nodded. 

“Okay,” Hwan had finally finished dressing, his ribs probably still sore from the breaks. Healing couldn't fix everything, unfortunately. “Here's what we'll do. _I_ will be a good citizen and give you the talk you should have gotten about, oh,” He tapped Amon's cheekbones. “Before these went from adorable to sexy. But not here. I have to get back to work.” He grabbed one of the pads of paper off the counter, and scribbled down an address. “Come here, sometime during the day, this week, and bring your bag. Tell the doorman you're a healer, and you're paying me a home check-up, alright?” 

Amon stared at him, disbelieving, and Hwan clucked. 

“We're not born knowing how to fuck, dear. It helps if you have some advice, beforehand. Especially for controlling little things like you.” He kissed Amon on the cheek. “Be good, now. And make sure that bruiser behaves like a gentleman, okay? I'd hate to see something happen to my favorite little stick-in-the-mud.” 

He frowned at him, but accepted the kiss with less attitude than usual. “Try to stay uninjured.” He didn't like how cavalier Hwan had been about the injury. That had not been like the ones previous. Someone had been genuinely trying to cause him harm, not just pain, and that worried at him all throughout the rest of his shift. 

More sick children came in, and by the end of the night, the count was up to thirty-seven cases of croup in varying stages. He was exhausted by the end, and concerned. Some of the children had been young enough to be at serious risk, but there was little they could do for it. Waterbending could get the phlegm out, but it couldn't prevent the build-up of more, and there were only so many waterbenders in the clinics. 

“Amon,” Kanna had come back on shift as the sun rose over the rooftops. “I know you're exhausted, but do you think you can help in the steam rooms for a little longer, just until the rest of the day shift is ready? We can't send some of the babies home in their condition.” 

He _was_ exhausted, and for a moment, he was tempted to refuse. Kanna would understand his bone-tiredness, how his vision was blurring when he blinked, how he could barely think at this point.

“I can manage the steam rooms.” He said, instead. He had been blessed, he reminded himself, as he made his way to them. Tui and La had seen him as worthy of their gift, and he had no right to refuse to use it for its intended purpose. 

Still, he had not realized how tired he really was, until he held still. He was ready to drop where he stood, and he might have, had Yasu not materialized beside him. 

“Hey, you alright there?” He asked, holding Amon up until he had his feet steady under him again. “Spirits and Ancestors, Amon, you look awful.” Amon glared up at him. He hated still being so short, but he suspected he would never be as tall as someone like Yasu. The gangly boy was taller than his fighter, even. “Didn't mean anything by it. Aren't you on night shift?”

“Steam rooms need a bender still,” He replied. “Are you the firebender for them?” 

Yasu nodded. “Just relieved Shou. _He_ went to bed, like a sensible person.” He raised one black eyebrow wryly. “You make the rest of us look bad, you know that?” Amon wasn't sure, but he thought Yasu might be making fun of him, but not necessarily in a bad way. 

“I promise to start slacking.” He was tired enough the joke came across as more good-natured than sardonic, and Yasu actually laughed, to his surprise. He never made anyone laugh, unless they were laughing _at_ him. 

Yasu was cheerful enough to keep him alert as they worked together, Amon bending the water throughout the room so Yasu could heat it hot enough it was steam. It was a quick movement after the steam had set, to quickly drop the temperature much lower. It was uncomfortable, but it brought the phlegm up faster than if he waterbended it, and some of the children were too small too risk that anyway. 

His wrists, elbows, and shoulders were aching from weariness and overuse by the time Yunna relieved him an hour later. He had never been happier to collapse in his bed, and he slept soundly.

The next few days were very much the same, and though he was uneasy over his missing choker, and the meeting with Hwan, he had little time to think about either thing. 

His whole shift missed their day off, thanks to the croup that was now definitely all over at least three wards. They were making house calls by the end of the week, and when Hwan came in for his weekly check-up, he only told Amon to come when he had time, instead of scolding him. 

Finally though, they managed to get a handle on the outbreak, and the cases coming in tapered off into less concerning numbers. By that time, it had been two weeks since he'd seen his fighter, and he was hearing coughing children in his sleep. 

Two weeks was a long time, he realized. It was entirely too likely his fighter had forgotten about him completely. It was a disappointing thought, and it would be a lie to say it didn't cause him pain to think, but he didn't need to be getting any unrealistic hopes built up. It would just hurt more when it was all confirmed. 

So it was a surprise when Penna, face pink from cold, suddenly threw herself at him in the hallway. “ _Amon_ ,” She squealed. “You have a _visitor_ ,” 

Confused, he shook her off, a thing easier said than done, and ducked outside, the cold air bearable for a short time without a parka. 

His fighter stood on the steps, calmly smoking a cigarette. 

The rush in his stomach set him off-balance more than he was comfortable admitting to. He didn't like this, didn't like feeling so ill at ease just because of one person, and the infuriating way he smirked at him. And yet...

“What are you doing here?” He asked, with less bite than he wanted to feel. 

His fighter pulled something out of his pocket, Amon's choker. “You left this. Thought you'd come back for it, but then I figured you were busy, what with half the sprogs in this city coughing up their lungs.” He had never heard the word, but he could guess it meant children. “So I figured I'd use it as an excuse.” 

He put the cigarette out on the snowy step, and approached, leaning forward to kiss Amon before he quite knew what was happening. That damned smirk was back, as he tugged on one of Amon's side tails. “Think I could see it down again?” He came further forward, his breath smelling of ash, mouth right by Amon's ear. “We could go get dinner.” 

“I'm on day shift again.” He was making excuses, and he knew it, but this man muddled everything up too much. When he was alone, he was focused on healing, on being useful. When he was with this man, there was almost too much to feel, and it overwhelmed him.

“And it's night.” His fighter pointed out, indicating the dark city. “You're done for the day. Your little friend told me so.” Of course she had. Penna and her big mouth. “Come on, then. Just dinner.” He was so close to him, Amon one step above him, putting them at a more equal height. 

Without thinking, for once just acting, he put his arms around his fighter's neck, and kissed him. The heat within flared up, as his fighter tilted his head up to him, his hands, warm and wide, settling on Amon's hips, holding him in place. They drew apart after a moment, Amon all too aware of their very public setting, of the fact that there would be a dozen rumors circulating within an hour. He hated the idea of people talking about him, thinking about him.

But he kissed him again. 

“Why can't you just admit you like me, already?” His fighter teased, smiling up at him. “It won't kill you, you know.” 

“You're an idiot.” He replied.

“You still like me.” He shrugged. “Come on, come out and play for a little bit.” He closed his hand around the belt of Amon's robes in a manner far too possessive for his liking. So why did he let him pull him closer by it? “I'll be on my best behavior.”

He should have said no. He should have gone to his dorm and slept, and let himself go back to his chosen solitude. It would be so much simpler, and everything could go back to being clear. 

“Fine.” 

-

His fighter took him to a restaurant on the second story of a building on Market Street, the lanterns bobbing in the wind like fireflies all along the rooftops. It had been a stormy autumn, and would probably continue that way into winter. 

The place was small, and softly lit, full of people hiding in the shadowy corners, the clink of teacups and the murmurs of voices filling the silence. 

“You look half-dead,” His fighter observed, after they'd sat down. 

Amon scowled. “There was an outbreak of disease, in case you forgot. I'm tired.” 

The man shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, I still want to drag you out of here and into my bed.” He grinned, even as Amon kicked him under the table. “Guess not.” 

“Tell me, is there any depth in that head of yours?” He knew it was untrue, knew his fighter had layers, and that this teasing one was only the top, but still. It was infuriating, and what was more infuriating was that it pleased him to hear the lecherous comment. He wanted to be desired by this man. 

His fighter just shrugged, the gesture lazy. “Why do you like making me think? You do enough for the both of us.” 

The server brought them tea, and poured for them, a respectful action Amon had not expected out of a place like this. His fighter ordered, again, which should have annoyed him more than it did. “I don't need you to treat me like a child.” He said, more waspish than necessary. “I know Earth Kingdom food.”

It was a surprise when his fighter suddenly grabbed his wrist, bringing it up to his mouth. The feel of his mouth on such a sensitive spot, especially with the memory of the last time he had done it, brought heat to his face. “We're in public,” He didn't draw away though, didn't want to, because now his fighter kissed his palm, and no one had ever done that before. 

“So? We've been in public before.” That wasn't the point, Amon wanted to say. The point was that he couldn't react like everyone else, didn't know how he was supposed to react at all. It was easier when it was just the two of them, and the only person he embarrassed himself in front of was his fighter. 

He released him, and settled back in the booth. “Okay, look, I'm getting mixed signals here. One minute you're yelling at me, the next you're crawling in my lap,” Amon looked away. “Then you're snapping at me, then you're kissing me. I get the idea you're smart, alright, but I'm not. So you need to just tell me if I'm wasting my time here.” 

Amon swallowed painfully, and took a drink of his tea. “You're not stupid. Why do you pretend you are?” 

His fighter actually seemed a little thrown by that, before his eyes narrowed. “Why do you think I'm pretending?”

“Because I am smart. And I know when people are playing a room.” He thought about his father, how easily he had gone from harsh and cruel with them in the tundra, to the sweet and loving husband the second his mother was back in earshot. “You are. All the time. I just can't understand why you would do that. I don't understand you at all.” 

“That makes two of us.” His fighter muttered. 

“I like when you're serious. When you're not faking for them.” He said, because it was true. When his fighter was serious, when he wasn't laughing at Amon and everyone else in the room, there was something there that was drawing Amon to him. 

His fighter took a sip of his own tea, and rolled his shoulders. He was injured again, Amon could see it in the way he winced, just barely. The right shoulder, he thought. 

“Why are you a healer?” He asked, again, and this time, it wasn't an idle question. The blue eyes were serious, trained on him like a light in a pitch black room. “You want me to be straight with you, I need something in return. So why are you a healer, when someone trained you to fight?”

Amon closed his eyes tight as he remembered that awful day, and Tarrlok, the only person in the world who trusted him completely. “Because I never want to use my bending to hurt someone, not ever again.” The words said were like draining poison from a wound, surprisingly. He'd thought they would hurt more, had thought they would never make it past his lips, but they had, and they hung there in the air like an exhaled breath in the cold. 

His fighter watched him, for far too long, before speaking. “My brother's death was my fault.” He didn't look at Amon as he spoke. “The Agni Kai Triad wanted me. I told them to fuck off. So they asked Nanook, and he told them the same thing, only more stupidly. That's why they hurt him.” There was real emotion on his face, and he seemed at a loss about what to do with it. 

“Your brother was a firebender, with a Water Tribe name?” He asked, trying to bring him out of his self-hatred. 

It made his fighter chuckle. “Yeah, Mom lived in hope that one of us would be a waterbender. I thought Dad was going to hurt himself laughing when it turned out he was a firebender.” He sobered again. “He was a good kid. And I fucked up, and got him killed. I've never been able to bring myself to tell my parents. I can't stand the thought of how Mom would look at me.” He sighed. “Mom's had enough bad stuff in her life. Marrying Dad, her leg getting messed up.”

“What's wrong with her leg?” Amon dared to ask. 

His fighter shrugged. “Complicated. I don't know if you know this, doubt it, since you don't even know what the Triads are, but there was this mob boss named Yakone,” 

Amon's heart froze in his chest at the name.

“It was when they still lived in the city, before we were born. Mom worked at this store, and they weren't paying up their protection. Yakone paid a personal visit, and Mom caught the wrong end of it. He did this thing, called bloodbending, got Mom pretty bad. The healers did what they could, but her leg never recovered. He did something to the inside, messed something up really bad.” He refilled his tea as he spoke, as Amon kept his own hands in his lap so his fighter couldn't see how they shook. “Like I said, it's gotten worse as she's gotten older. She has to see a healer once a week at this point. It's expensive. That's why I do the fights. They need the money, and I can't find another way to get it.” 

Amon couldn't breathe, couldn't think, because the word kept ringing through his head like an endless alarm, _bloodbending_. Worse, that name, that awful name that hung around his neck like a weight, one that would drag him down and drown him. 

The truth he had already said already felt like too much, as he tried to keep himself under control. How could he ever tell him the rest? He would hate him, would never look at him again, and the thought of that was suddenly unbearable, because he couldn't go back to how he had been, no matter how much safer it felt. He couldn't go back to the numbness that swaddled him since that day, not now. He just couldn't.

What could he say? He had to lie, there was no other choice. He couldn't risk those eyes turning away from him. 

“My family is dead.” He was surprised at how easy it was. “And I can't ever be who I was. So I'm Amon now.” 

His fighter pushed for no details, and he could have kissed him for that. 

They ate, and his fighter took him outside. The snow lay thick on the ground, and the man smiled, bright and open. “I have an idea.” 

Amon let him lead him away from the streets, ducking down alleys and side streets, until he was hopelessly lost. They hit a stone wall, and, without showing nearly enough effort, his fighter leaped to the top. He followed, though he needed his bending to do so, and saw they were standing over the park, just on the eastern side instead of the west, where he had always been. 

“Come on,” His fighter urged, jumping down into the snow. Amon continued to follow, albeit a little less gracefully. He didn't understand how the man moved like that. 

The snow crunched under their shoes as they walked, his fighter whistling, until they reached one of the ponds arranged artfully around the place. “Freeze it.” His fighter ordered. 

Puzzled, Amon frowned at him. “Why?”

“Just do it. Make it really thick.” 

Sighing, but willing to trust him, he knelt, and touched the water with one gloved hand. It took only a minute to have a sheet of ice over it a few inches thick, the freezing weather helping. His fighter stepped forward onto it, for some reason, and smiled, seemingly satisfied. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, confused. 

His fighter laughed, but he didn't think he was making fun of him this time. “You've got to be kidding me. You've never played on the ice before?” 

Amon shook his head. His father hadn't been much for playing, after they discovered their bending, and there weren't any bodies of water except the sea near their village. He wasn't sure what his fighter meant by 'play'. Ice was dangerous. 

“You had a really dull childhood, didn't you?” His fighter held out a hand, and though part of him was perfectly fine standing on the solid ground, the other part extended his own hand, and took his fighter's, stepping out onto the ice with him. “Okay, now, we slide,”

“Why?”

“Because it's fun,” His fighter pulled him, sliding his own feet on the ice with a skill that was obviously years of practice. Amon had no choice but to follow his lead, until his fighter let him go, to stand on his own in the middle. Cautiously, he tried to follow, but found his feet disobeying. Frightened of falling on the hard ice, he used his bending to guide himself, until he caught up with his fighter. 

After that, it was easy, easy to let the water grab at his feet, help him slide like his fighter did, though he was not nearly as agile, or as clearly comfortable. The exhilaration of it, of something new, silly and small and something he should have been doing at ten, not learning how to hurt, how to kill, was more than his heart could handle. 

His fighter was beside him before he knew it, pulling him in by the waist, and the way he looked down at Amon, Amon would have given everything he had to always be looked at like that.

“You can smile.” His fighter sounded amazed, and even he was, because if he thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like smiling. 

His fighter kissed him, then slid away, backwards, grinning at Amon. He gave chase, determined to prove he could, the smile almost hurting, but not at all, really, maybe it was just out of practice. 

He caught him, throwing his arms around his waist, but he underestimated his own weight, and they crashed down, into the bank, the snow cushioning the fall, as his fighter laughed. Another voice was laughing with him, and it was shocking and sad how long it took him to realize it was his own voice, laughing like he hadn't done in so many years. Far too many. 

His fighter cupped his face, hands cold and wet from snow. “Look at that, you can laugh too. I think the world might end.” 

Amon just kept laughing, even as he picked up a handful of snow and crushed it into his fighter's hair. “Brat,” His fighter hissed, scooping up snow and smashing it into Amon's hair. “My ears are cold now.” 

“Sorry,” He managed, still giggling, because now that the seal was broken, it was like he couldn't stop this strange giddy feeling. He was happy, he knew, truly happy for the first time since he was a child, and he didn't even bother to feel timid when he kissed his fighter's ears, one after the other, before kissing his mouth. “Sorry,” 

None of it mattered, as his fighter laughed, keeping him close in the snow, under the heavy weight of the half-moon. None of the awful things he carried around mattered. He could lay them aside for now, could just be happy with this man, just for now.


	4. Destroy the middle, it's a waste of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amon learns a bit more about a world he never had a reason to enter, and maybe all that want for equality doesn't just cover benders and non-benders. There are plenty of people in the fringes of society who could use a friend. There is also a visit to a bath house, and Amon finally learns his fighter's name.

It was only when Amon stood on the sidewalk in front of it that he realized he had walked by the tea house where Hwan lived over a dozen times, completely unaware of what the building even was. It wasn't as though these types of places hung a sign out, he supposed, though they were technically legal in Republic City. There were certain sensibilities that had to be catered to though, he supposed. 

The building was set back from the street, a little walled garden between the gate entrance and the porch. It was surprisingly mundane, on the outside, a three story affair with porches stretching around each level, customary sloped roofs, and glassed in rice paper panel doors. The entryway was dark, unlit, the half-curtain that hung in the door blocking out what little sunlight could reach between the wall and the roof. It made the room almost pitch black, and he had to blink, his eyes adjusting slowly.

A man was sitting in an old wooden chair, feet pressed to the wall, reading a newspaper and laughing.

When Amon's eyes dilated enough that he could see his face, he realized why the entryway was kept so dark.

His burns extended over half his face, an eye patch covering what had to be an empty socket. The scarring went down his neck, and probably covered most of that half of his body, if he had to guess. Sunlight had to be painful on them. 

He was wearing a red belt though, with a golden flame clasp. He was a firebender? He had never seen one of them so heavily burned. Typically, they could divert more of the flame. 

Despite his appearance, he smiled quite cheerfully at Amon, though the burned side of his mouth had more trouble twisting up. “Help you, Healer?” 

Amon shouldered his bag. “I'm here to visit Hwan, for a follow-up.” 

The man perked up a little, at the mention of Hwan's name, with seemingly genuine concern on his face. “Is he alright?” 

“It's just a follow-up.” 

The man nodded amiably. “Hwan is on the second floor, third green door on the right, the corner room. His name is on the door.” He waved Amon into the foyer, where there was a staircase rising in the middle of the room. All along the walls were panel doors, one open to show a matted room with a table and floor cushions. Entertaining must be done on the first floor, then, with the workers on the second and third floor. 

Hwan's nameplate was wooden, with flowers clumsily carved around the characters. When he knocked, it slid back to reveal a much more casually dressed Hwan than who he usually saw, no elaborate layers of silk robes and belts, but instead a cotton robe over pants. 

What Amon noticed first though, was how badly his face was bruised again, and how he winced as he stepped back from the door, his arm cradling his right side. 

“What happened?” He asked, keeping his tone neutral instead of angry. It wasn't going to do any good, and Hwan was already in pain, and under more stress than he was letting on, Amon suspected. There was no point in adding to it. Agitation would do nothing good for his obvious injuries, anyway.

Hwan sat down at the low tea table in the center of the room. “Same song and dance as my poor ribs.” He answered, not even bothering to put on a front. He sounded bitter and unhappy. “He's high enough up in their pecking order I can't refuse him, no matter what he does. Believe me, this isn't the worst of it. You should see poor Taruk. He can't get out of bed.”

A fresh surge of anger made him clench his fist around the strap of his bag. Forcing himself to remain calm, he took it off and knelt beside Hwan.“I'll see him too, if he wants. Take off your robe.” When he saw, he was even angrier. There was no wondering about his wincing when he could see the map of deep purple bruises the client had put on Hwan's pale skin. 

“Fucking benders,” Hwan hissed, as Amon ran his hands over his chest, feeling out the extent of the injuries. “They think they're so special, that they can just shove the rest of us around.” 

“I'm a bender.” Amon pointed out quietly, almost ashamed of it again, like he had been with his father. Like he had been that day, with Tarrlok. 

“You, and the others at that clinic, and the cops, you're not like these benders. You buy into that whole 'blessed by the spirits' bullshit,” Amon frowned at him, but said nothing. “You actually believe your moon spirit wants you to save the huddled masses.” 

“Tui and La are our spirits.” Amon reminded him, not sure how he felt about Hwan's words. They sounded half like derision, half like gratitude, and he couldn't tell what was stronger. “The Moon and the Ocean. Push and Pull. Balance. Like waterbenders. We must be balanced.” Gently, he felt out the chi lines, saw how tangled and swollen they were, and narrowed his eyes. This was bad bruising, very bad. “I've seen you hurt by non-benders.”

“Not like this.” He refuted, as he blinked back tears. “The Agni Kai were never as bad as these bastards. This Triple Threat, they're not like anyone. They've got this insane manifesto, they think anyone weaker than them deserves whatever they get. No one would have allowed me to get hurt like this before, it's bad for business. The new boss just says we need to 'accept our place in the world', like we're _pets_ ,” 

The bruising was healing under his hands quickly, with nothing broken this time, thankfully. Amon finished and let the water fall back into the flask by his side. 

Hwan pulled his knees to his chest. Without this clothing, he made Amon think of a stringed puppet from a children's show. He wasn't a short man, but he was slender, much more so than Amon, and less muscled. Not for the first time, he wondered where Hwan had come from, exactly. His fine features made Amon think he must be from a high-class family, but then, why be a prostitute when he had no control over his life, and it so clearly infuriated him?

It wasn't any of his business, either way, so he kept silent. “The doorman seemed concerned about you.” He said, to make conversation, and put off the inevitable. “The scarred man.”

“Who, Reza?” Hwan asked, with an arched eyebrow. “He's a fright, isn't he? He hasn't asked for anyone yet, but I hope it's not me. That face gives me the shivers, and I shudder to think of what the rest of him looks like.” 

Amon narrowed his eyes. “That's unfair.” 

“Would _you_ fuck him?” Hwan sneered.

“If I liked him, yes.” The scarring would take getting used to, but it was hardly the man's fault he'd been assaulted. There were still many people from the Hundred Year War, and the many skirmishes that had occurred after, with awful scarring. Firebending was the most dangerous of the four, and left the worst scarring.

Except for _that_ one, he reminded himself. What had happened to his fighter's mother was more than enough proof of that. He had tried to avoid thinking about it, since that night, but every time it came back up in his mind, he felt a sickening roll of guilt in his stomach. Maybe he could confess the truth later, he reassured himself, after his fighter knew he wasn't that man, that he would never do something like that. But until then, he had to keep lying, he _had_ to. No one had ever wanted him around like his fighter did, had made him feel like he wasn't alone the way his fighter did. 

He wouldn't lie forever, he told himself. He would tell the truth eventually. 

“Yes, well, not all of us are as blind as you.” Hwan was saying, as he relaxed, settling back on his hands. “He's nice enough, I suppose.” He shrugged, and turned his eyes on Amon, a teasing smile on his face. “So, my darling boy, what _do_ you know?” 

He felt less embarrassed about the whole thing with Hwan than he would have with Penna, or Pasook, or even his fighter. Sex was the man's trade, and it meant nothing to him, the way he so easily dropped details to Amon, or calmly related the tale of whatever injury he had received. 

“Some, but mostly from you and others who come in. I understand parts of it, just not the details, or the why.” 

Hwan laughed, but not meanly. “Because it feels good, if done right. Why else would we keep doing it?” He looked at Amon quizzically, mouth neutral now. “You develop preferences. Things you like. Not all of my clients like to fuck me. Lots of men just like to be sucked, or given a helping hand.” 

Amon leaned forward on the low table, curious. 

“What does that mean?” 

“What you do for yourself, only for someone else. Easy enough.” Hwan leaned forward as well, chin in hand. “Some men want me to put my mouth on them. That can go a few ways. I can get a man who won't be a complete bastard, and then I get ones who half-choke me for whatever reasons.” He rolled his eyes. “Those ones are _fun_. Though, to each their own. Baki down the hall, he likes it when they do that.” 

Amon frowned, not seeing how being treated like that could be enjoyable. But then, what did he know?

“I want him.” He said, to the table. 

Straddling him, the feel of him against Amon, his hands on Amon's back, hips, the thought of those hands touching his cock, or maybe, like Hwan said, his mouth. Or, perhaps, the other thing. 

“What's it like?” He asked, looking up at him. 

Hwan didn't ask for clarification. “Either giving or receiving can feel fantastic. I like both well enough, but a lot of people have preferences, and even then, they'll have a way they like. I like to be on my knees, if I'm getting fucked. It's better that way. I don't want to look at them, most of the time.” He smiled at Amon. “Either way, you have to relax. Tension can make it hurt.”

He wondered what it would be like, to be with his fighter like that. Would it hurt? “Does the first time hurt, when they're inside you?”

“Not if you do it right.” Hwan dismissed, but then seemed to remember who he was talking to, and his face slid back to something more honest. “A little. You tend to tense up, your first time, no matter what. Makes it ache. Worth it though, if they can find the right angle. If they do it right, you'll see stars it'll feel so good.” 

Amon wasn't sure how he felt about this. It seemed so intimate, so dangerous, to let someone that close to you. At the same time though, whenever he thought about his fighter, it inevitably returned to that night in his apartment, or the morning after, or that night under the half moon. How they'd kissed until he couldn't breathe, how that fire had lit within again, all his self-control keeping his hips still. 

“Do you want the education now?” Hwan asked. “The _real_ one?” 

He nodded. 

Hwan told him details he'd never considered, all in that calm way of his. He told him how the waterbenders in the house used their bending to keep themselves clean, how he could too, told him what was normal and what was worrying. “The point is,” He said, smiling, “Is for it to feel good. Whatever feels good is fine, sweetheart, no matter what anyone says. If you don't like how something feels, don't do it. I've known guys who get bored during blowjobs, and I'll have you know that I am good at that, so it's not a slight on my skill.” 

“I'm sure.” Amon smirked. 

The prostitute blinked at him. “Closest I've ever seen you come to a smile.” He himself smiled, and looked Amon up and down. “What's he like, your bruiser?”

He felt strange, talking about him. “He's different.” How to put into words, what made his fighter stand out to him? “He's strong, not just his body either. There's something unbreakable in him, something that doesn't bend. I admire that.” He licked his lips, trying to think. “When I look at him though, when he looks at me, there's this connection between us. Like he's someone I was meant to know.” It sounded silly, out loud, sounded strange even in his own head. 

“Past life?” Hwan suggested. “Maybe he's your red string.” 

“My _what_?” 

“It's a belief, where I'm from. That everyone is born half of a whole, and you have a red string around your finger, connecting you to your other half.” He shrugged. “It's silly, of course.” He didn't look like that was what he really believed, but Amon decided not to press. This kind of thing had to be more complicated for someone in his profession. “Is he a bender?”

Amon shook his head. “No. He doesn't need to be.” As he had shown that first night. His fighter didn't need any help to win a fight, didn't need any blessings from the spirits. He was powerful enough, as is. “Would it be different for you, if you were a bender?”

“I'd be treated better by the customers, I can tell you that.” He scoffed. “They'd be a little more cautious, if I could defend myself.” 

“You don't need to be a bender, to defend yourself.” 

“Darling,” He really didn't like Hwan's use of pet names. They felt false, an affected trait, not a natural inclination. “Look at you. Even if you weren't a bender, you're not done growing yet. You're going to be intimidating, when you finally get that last growth spurt. I'm not.”

“Now you're just making excuses.” Amon told him, annoyed at his self-defeatist attitude. If he hated it so much, why didn't he stand up for himself? 

“You don't know my life, Amon.” He used his name now, his tone a little deeper, a little darker. “You have no idea how far I had to come just to get here. All I want is a nice quiet life as someone's moll in this little band of roughnecks.”

“How can you not want more?” He asked. 

The man closed his robe a little tighter, looking away. “You're ridiculous. Idealistic, still. You think everyone wants to fight for what they're owed. Some of us just want to be left alone. If I have to fuck some gangster occasionally to get that, fine.” He was resigned to his fate, and it angered Amon. “I don't have any fight left in me, Amon. I just want quiet.” 

“You'll get plenty of that in the afterlife, after one of your clients kills you.” It was harsh, but it needed to be said. 

He shrugged. “It happens.” 

Amon stared at him for a minute, before closing his eyes in memory, because he knew the expression on Hwan's face too well. It was the mirror of his own, his own loneliness, of his self-hatred, going on for years and years. How many times had he wanted to just stay asleep in the mornings, never wake to another hunting trip again? He still felt nervous during the full moon, despite almost two years away from that man, and his evil. 

Was it really that surprising that Hwan had fallen into the same state he'd been in? “Why don't you just leave, go somewhere else?”

“And where would I go? I'm not like you, Amon, I don't have any trade other than this one, and maybe this place isn't too great, but Republic City is the best place to be a whore, unless I want to take myself all the way to the Fire Nation, which no, I don't.” He wore his hair long, in a braid that fell over his shoulder, and now he played with it idly, twirling the end like a paint brush. 

“What do you mean? Why would you go to the Fire Nation?”

“Because prostitutes have _rights_ in the Fire Nation. We're barely legal here, and when we get knocked around, we get some beat cop looking down their nose at us. In the Fire Nation, we get rights to our safety and well-being, to our money.” He huffed. “I shouldn't have to give up seventy-five percent of my pay to the house, when most of it goes to line the pockets of some Triad gutter trash. But I don't get another option here, because either I work for a Triad, or I end up in a morgue.” 

Amon shook his head. “At the rate this one is going, you will anyway.” 

The man leaned on the table, rubbing at his temple. “It's just the one. Everyone else has been run of the mill.”

He wanted to help him, but didn't know how. “Where's your friend?” That at least, he could help with.

Taruk was down the hall, and when Amon felt his injuries out, he found it was worse than Hwan had thought. The young Water Tribesman had bruising within, around his stomach and the rest of the area. He had been struck harder than Hwan, repeatedly. 

As carefully as he could, he found the chi lines, and smoothed them out, allowing the build-up from the pinched areas to flow again. Taruk hissed in pain, as Hwan stroked his hair. 

“It's alright,” He assured the man. “Amon's good. You'll be fine.” 

Amon could only hope he was as good as Hwan seemed to think he was, because this was bad. There was so much internal damage, he could barely make it all out. He hadn't been hit with a hand, but something blunt. Hwan had mentioned he was an earthbender. Had he used it on this boy? 

The healing took over an hour, and when he was finally finished, he slumped over his crossed legs, elbows on knees, exhausted. Taruk was still in pain, so Hwan had brewed willow bark tea, with something to put Taruk to sleep, if he wasn't wrong. It was better for him anyway, to not move for awhile. It would give his body time to recover. Healing at this extent was taxing on the body, and he'd need a few days. 

Curled up on his bed, his face relaxed in sleep, Amon saw the similarities between him and Hwan. Both were fine-featured men. This earthbender had a type. “How old is he?”

Hwan handed Amon a cup of tea. “Who, Taruk? He's fifteen. Just turned.” He must have seen the look on Amon's face. “I was thirteen when I was sold to a house. So was he.” 

“You were sold to a house?”

“My father had a gambling problem.” Hwan said, as he poured himself a cup. “He sold me and my sister to pay off his debt to a local Triad back home in Ba Sing Se. After I turned fifteen, I was sold to a house in Omashu, and there, I managed to pay my way off the contract. I contracted to this house when I was twenty.” The tea he'd brewed was perfect, and Amon drank it gratefully, as they both stood to leave Taruk to sleep. “It's not an unusual story, Amon. A lot of us are sold by our parents, for lots of reasons. They don't do that in the Water Tribe?”

“I don't know.” He replied, Hwan quietly shutting the door behind them. “I grew up in a small village.” 

“You're telling me that no one was selling there?”

“No one would have had the money to pay.” Amon replied. “We worked by trade, with one another. I only saw money every now and then, when people from the cities would travel through.” 

Hwan whistled. “Glad I was born in Ba Sing Se.” He seemed surprised when Amon handed him his tea cup. “You sure you don't want to stay and rest? We won't really be open for another few hours, when our brutes finish their day-to-day business.” 

“No, I need to get back.” 

The man smiled, and kissed Amon on the cheek. “I have an idea. Why don't you go home, change, find your little bit of rough, and actually have fun on your day off?” He lingered by Amon's cheek for a second longer than usual. “And remember to relax, darling. Makes everything easier.” 

He looked down at him, and realized he was taller than Hwan now. He hadn't been, before, when they first met a year ago. “Try to stay alive.”

“I will do my very best.” 

When he was in the entryway, the burned man, Reza, looked up. “He okay?”

“Yes,” Amon answered. “And so is Taruk now.” 

The man narrowed his good eye, mouth form. “Jin's been favoring Hwan, mostly.” He didn't look happy about that. “I didn't know he liked Taruk too.” 

“Like is not the word I would use.” It came out cold, and Reza had the good grace to look ashamed. “I'll be back in a day or so, to check on Taruk.” He would need to go over the healing again, make sure he hadn't missed anything in the mess of bruising. Some of the damage had been bordering on life-threatening if left alone. 

Reza nodded. “I'll be here.” 

It was early afternoon now, the sun hanging just above the skyline. If this had been last month, he would be headed back to the dorms to get in extra training, especially since his apprenticeship was almost over. By next week, he'd be a full-fledged healer, as long as he passed his examination. He really should go back, study.

Instead, after he'd changed and washed up, more thoroughly than usual, he headed out, towards his fighter's apartment. 

He was pleased when he saw Amon, his smile bright and mischievous behind the chain. He shut the door again, so he could undo the chain, and let Amon in. 

It was a split-second decision, but halfway done before he could reconsider. He placed a hand on the back of his fighter's neck and pulled him down for a kiss, stepping away before he could turn it into something he wasn't quite ready for. 

“Good mood?” The man asked, as Amon shucked his parka, hanging it over one of the chairs. 

Amon shrugged. “Not really. My friend was hurt today, and so was his friend.” He didn't know what else to call Hwan. He supposed they were friends at this point. 

“Who, that Water Tribe kid?” 

“No, my friend Hwan.” His fighter moved about the kitchen area, putting a kettle on a flat ceramic plate that had some kind of metal structure beneath it. “He works at the Hidden Garden Arbour.”

His fighter glanced at him over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “Isn't that a whorehouse?” 

“Technically, it's registered as a tea house.” Amon said, raising his eyebrows. 

“Well, people aren't coming for the tea.” His fighter said, and then did something with the metal bits beneath the ceramic plate before walking to the shelves built into the wall to get down tea cups. “He a server, or a whore?”

“Hwan works upstairs.” He clarified, not comfortable with using the word whore for the man, or Taruk. It seemed insulting, and patronizing. “He and his friend were beaten by a client, an earthbender, Jin.” 

“Getting beaten is kind of part of the package, isn't it?” His fighter asked, as he rinsed the tea cups out under the tap, and dried them. 

Amon shook his head. “Not like this. Taruk had bruising on his organs. Do you realize how hard you have to strike someone for that to happen? Neither of them are benders, they couldn't even defend themselves, and Hwan says they're not allowed to refuse the man.” 

His fighter was listening, as he measured out tea leaves into the pot. “You're really worried about him, aren't you?” The kettle was starting to steam, and Amon came over to investigate, puzzled. There was no source of heat, as far as he could see, just the plate. 

He'd blame it on his weariness from the amount of healing he'd had to do, combined with the distraction over the source of injuries. He needed an excuse for why he would do something so foolish, as he brushed his fingers over the plate in question. 

It burned the pads of his fingers like fire, and he stuck them in his mouth in shock, as his fighter swore and tugged his wrist over, so he could see it. “You idiot, why would you do that?” Amon shook his head, as he called water up out of the flask he had left on the table, soothing away the sting quickly. 

The kettle started to whistle, and his fighter touched something among the wires, before picking up the kettle by the wooden handle, to pour water over the tea leave in the pot, using a rag to balance out the belly of it. The kettle was put back, to a hiss of hot metal, and his fighter took his hand again, peering at the pads of his fingers. “Does it still hurt?”

“Healing just takes away the damage. Sometimes things like burns still sting, after.” His fighter made a considering noise, before he kissed the pad of one, then leaned forward, and kissed Amon. “What is that thing?” 

“I made it. Runs off a generator. Too much trouble to use a fire in this place, or the public kitchen downstairs.” There was a small cook stove in the place, in the corner, but it looked unused. The things smoked, even with the chimneys, and tended to overheat apartments in spring and summer, he'd been told. “You'd think someone as smart as you would figure you shouldn't touch it.” 

“I'm tired.” He excused, resisting the urge to study the thing further. He'd never seen anything like it, and he wondered how else it could be used. “How did you know how to make something like this?” 

“My dad taught me. He learned a lot of engineering, in the military.” He poured the tea into cups, the built in filter keeping the leaves out, and handed one to Amon. “I had a knack for it.” 

“Then why do you fight? Why not work for a factory?” 

“Do you know how little I would make in comparison? Non-benders have a hard time working their way up in the ranks in that kind of work. Factories want benders. Metalbenders and firebenders are just cheaper. So, factor in the union fees, and I'd have to spend about half my life in one just to make what I can get doing the fights three nights a week.” He smirked. “And I just like hitting people.” 

Amon drank his tea, and bit back a lecture. His fighter was good, maybe even the best, but that didn't make the fights any less dangerous. Just because bending wasn't allowed didn't mean all the fighters were non-benders, and some of them were not going to be happy about being beaten. “You would be safer.” He said, instead of everything else he wanted to say. 

“And I would be broke and pissed off.” He put the cup down on the counter and ducked down so he could kiss Amon's neck. “Instead I've got money, and you, right in front of me.” He took Amon's tea cup away, placing it somewhere, as he pulled Amon close. 

His mouth felt good, and he grabbed at him, his fingers finding purchase in the fabric of his fighter's shirt. He moved up, from Amon's neck to his mouth, kissing him slowly. He liked it, he found, liked the determined nature of it, like his fighter was trying to please him. 

His fighter's hands, solid on his hips, suddenly tightened, and he lifted him up so that he was sitting on the counter. It was instinctive, the way he opened his legs for his fighter to fit between them, the way they pressed together, his breath loud to his own ears, his fighter's too. Like this, he was taller, his fighter at just the right height to go back to Amon's neck, and when he did, his own fingers twisted in his fighter's hair, holding him in place. 

His fighter laughed against his skin, right before he nipped Amon's collarbone, so Amon wrapped his leg around his fighter's hips, pressing him against Amon. He made a different noise then, his cock getting hard against Amon's. 

There was knocking at the door, but his fighter kept kissing him, refusing to let him go. “They'll go away.” He muttered, his hands warm, even through the fabric of his robes, as one slid up Amon's back, to rest in the middle of it. 

The knocking got louder. “Damn it, I don't have time for you to get your dick wet, you damn mutt. You answer the door, now.” 

His fighter made a frustrated noise, and pulled back. “His timing is fucking spectacular.” He seemed reluctant to let go of Amon, frowning before he kissed him again. 

The knocking came again. “I will take the door down if you don't open it.” 

“He sounds serious.” Amon said, pushing him away. 

“He is.” His fighter agreed, sounding put out about it. He pulled his shirt straight though, and pushed off the counter, going to the door to slide the chain out. 

Zolt came in without invitation, and when he saw Amon, he smirked. “Funny how we keep meeting, Inspiration.” 

“Funny.” He had no idea what it was about this man that put his hackles up, but it was there, and he trusted his own instincts enough to not immediately dismiss the caution. 

He slid down off the counter, setting himself to rights, all too aware of the way Zolt was watching him. He wouldn't flinch though, wouldn't give away how uncomfortable the man made him. Men like him fed off that kind of thing, and Amon would be damned if he gave him anything. 

His fighter watched as well, but his gaze was more considering. “Thought I was coming to see you later?” He asked Zolt, his eyes still on Amon. 

“Oh, you are. We've got business to discuss, and not the kind meant for polite company.” 

Amon frowned. What did that mean? 

“So then why are you here?” 

Zolt held his hands out wide, frowning, though his eyes were smiling. “Not even going to offer me tea? What kind of manners were you raised with?” He clapped his fighter on the shoulder. “Those mixed households, what, they can't decide on what set of rules to teach, so they don't teach any?” 

“You hate tea.” His fighter said. Amon joined him on his side of the room, straightening his parka over the chair before it fell to the floor. He felt his knuckles tracing his spine idly as he did so, or rather, meant to look idle. He was making a show of touching Amon, the same way he had before. It made Amon wonder if his fighter was reading more into Zolt's observation of him than he himself was. 

Zolt huffed. “It's still polite to offer.” His fighter shrugged, as Amon peeked out the window, his back to the two of them. It looked like snow outside, or maybe sleet. “How's your mom doing?” 

It was a good thing he had turned, because he knew his face gave away more than he liked at the mention of his fighter's mother. The guilt that churned inside was enough to make him feel sick, guilt for his lie, guilt for being who he was. 

“Healer is trying to get her to amputate. Says he can't do anything to fix the damage, just take away the pain.” His fighter said. “Mom won't let him do it though.” 

Amputation was only suggested when there was serious internal damage, too much for standard healing to fix. Bloodbending could do so much damage, if used like how he knew his father probably had. His fighter said she was in pain, that she couldn't use her leg correctly. And the healer couldn't fix it. Nerve damage, maybe. That was always the hardest thing to fix, if they had been destroyed. Bloodbending might make it impossible for a normal healer to rebuild. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zolt make a more sympathetic face, seemingly genuine. “She's a tough lady. She knows what she can handle.” He clamped a hand on the back of his fighter's neck, smiling again. “And I know what you can handle, my boy. Which is why you're getting a present, from me to you.” 

“I don't think Amon would like me accepting your kind of present.” Whatever that meant, it made Zolt laugh.

“I bet not. And he doesn't look like the type who likes a party.” He was completely lost in their conversation now, and he couldn't help the frown on his face as he listened. “In any case, it's not that kind of present. No, you are going to go get yourself taken care of, over at the Taku Bath House. Got a nice room set up for you.” 

His fighter seemed pleased, and Amon couldn't blame him. The Taku was one of the nicest places in the city. It made him wonder just what it was Zolt actually did for a living, because there was no way anyone working class could afford that place, especially not a private bath. “That's nice of you,” His fighter said. “When do I have to collect?”

“Whenever.” Zolt replied. “You can even take your little Inspiration there. Bet a Water Tribe boy like him would love a real bath.” He winked at Amon, but Amon didn't react, keeping his face blank. “You been doing good work. We're all real happy with you.” 

“I do my best.” His fighter drawled, but he seemed pleased with the praise, all the same, his pride showing in his smile. “When do you want me by tonight?” 

Zolt looked at Amon. “Your day off?” Amon nodded, and he turned back to his fighter. “How about this, further show of my gratitude. You come see me in the morning, around ten.” He smirked. “Never say I don't do anything for you.” 

“That's Shin, not me.” His fighter said, leaning back on the table. “And he's not talking about rewards.” 

The older man laughed, as his fighter snickered. “You take care of yours, I'll take care of mine.” He didn't understand why both men were laughing now, didn't know what the joke could be. “I'll see you tomorrow.” 

After he was gone, his fighter reached over, and tugged on one of Amon's side tails again. “Want to go to a bath house? Still early.” As though Amon was going to say no, but his fighter always liked an excuse to touch him, wrap his arms around Amon. “If he's put a room aside, he's put a tab open too. Means drinks. Mineral water tokens.” 

“I need to get my things from the dorms.” 

The bath house was huge, and he was amazed the attendant could tell the room apart. They all looked the same to him, big round wooden doors with flowers carved on them. The flowers were all different though, he noticed, when he watched closely, as the attendant opened one with a huge blue one. The attendant placed a basket full of wooden tokens on the side of the huge bath, then lit the gas lamps around it. 

He bowed to his fighter. “Will you be wanting tea, or drinks?” 

“Yeah, tea.” His fighter ordered. 

“Black tea. With milk.” Amon specified, and the attendant nodded. If he was getting free tea, he was getting what he wanted, and black tea was too expensive to be a regular thing for him, milk even more so. All they kept was herbal in the canteen at the dorms.

“And sugar?” He never got sugar for his tea, unless it was in a cafe. It had to be rationed for cooking in the kitchens, and sugar was too precious to be used for anything but preserving, at home. 

“Please,” He said, and the attendant smiled politely before shutting the doors. 

There was a shower, behind a wooden screen, with a drain in the floor, and a shelf of soaps and other toiletries that were far above Amon's pay scale. They both disrobed, the bath house setting removing most of Amon's anxiety. Here, being naked meant nothing, and he had no need to be nervous. 

Except for his fighter's eyes on him, as he washed himself, the man leaning on the wall, waiting his turn. Or so Amon thought, until he felt him against his back, his hands in Amon's hair, pulling the wolf tail out, then undoing the binds on the side tails, putting it all on the shelf. “Wait,” He ordered, as his fighter pressed to him, his cock hard, against the small of Amon's back. 

His fighter kissed his shoulder. “You're in front of me, naked and wet, and you want me to wait?” 

“Yes.” Amon said, trusting him to obey. 

“Spoilsport.” He backed off though, letting Amon finish, as he took the opportunity to wash his hair as well. He stepped out from under the spray, but put a hand against his fighter's chest when he came forward. “Come on, don't be a tease,” 

“Get cleaned up.” His fighter scowled, but did as he was told, and Amon left him, to get in the tub. 

To be submerged in the water again was like nothing else, an indescribable pleasure. He let himself sink beneath the surface, surrounding himself with his element. The chi of the water, the power he now realized had touched and loved him from the first day of life, now that he knew what it felt like to have it cut off, flowed over him like an embrace. It held him tight, reminded him how deeply tied the two of them were, how he was its conduit, Tui and La's, until the day he died. 

He bent it almost unconsciously, inviting it in the way he wanted his fighter to touch him. It flowed easily enough, not uncomfortably, and when he finished, he surfaced. The door was just sliding open, a kneeling attendant with a tea tray. “Anything else, sir?” He asked. 

“No.” 

“Anything you might need is among the other items, sir.” The attendant did nothing so obvious as look at the screen his fighter was still behind, but there was something in his expression that told Amon he knew exactly what they were doing here together. “Do you wish to remain undisturbed?” 

Amon nodded, and the attendant nodded, shutting the door. 

The shower turned off, as Amon used one of the tokens, choosing a bath with a good combination of supplements. He boosted himself out of the bath, sitting naked on the side, as the original water drained in a matter of seconds, and the spout came down, new water rushing in. It smelled strongly of the dissolved minerals, not a bad scent, he thought, as he added sugar from the bowl into his milky tea. 

It tasted wonderful, and he closed his eyes in pleasure, kicking his feet in the swiftly filling tub, as his fighter stepped into it, wading across to get to his own tea. 

Amon watched him now, as he put his cup down. He really was a well-built man, though there was scarring on his chest and back. Times he hadn't gone to the healers, had let himself mend on his own. He slid back into the water, as the spout finished and folded back into the wall. His fighter held still, as Amon explored the scars, the old ones that had turned white with age, and the newer ones, still a soft pink, all smooth under his fingers. 

“Do you even remember how you got them all?” He asked. 

“Only one.” His fighter turned, and took his hand, putting it on his upper thigh. There was a large scar there, the mottled valleys and hills of a burn. “How I met Zolt. Was looking for a firebender to beat, after my brother was killed, found him. Managed to chi block him, but he got his in too. Long story short, we ended up in a bar, getting drunk.” 

“Do you chi block every bender you meet?” 

His fighter shrugged, grinning as his hands traveled down Amon's body. “Don't worry, you're special.” He moved away, sitting down on one of the submerged benches.

Amon followed, and settled into his lap, a leg on either side of him. His stomach twisted itself into a knot as he did it, worried he'd do something wrong, something that would give him away to his fighter. But the man was growing hard again, as a hand went up his back. “You better not tell me to wait anymore.” 

He reached down into the water, and wrapped his hand around the other man's cock in answer. 

The water helped, kept him calm even as his heart raced, his fighter's hand wrapping around him too. It felt good, so good, to be with him and the hot water, so easy to rise up into his hand. He ached from the burn of it within, his body wanting release, even as his mind begged him to slow down. If he slowed down though, his nerves would get the better of him. Better to just push through the anxiety. 

“You're killing me,” His fighter hissed, pushing into his hand harder. “Tighten your hand, just a bit,” Amon took the direction, swallowing, trying not to do something as ridiculous as tremble. 

But he'd never been naked against another, had never had another man's cock in his hand, had never done any of this until this man looked at him in that ring and freed something he had locked away. It was scarier than it should have been, when all he wanted right now was to be here, with him. 

When he came, it was a relief followed by more, as his fighter did as well, and he bended the mess away from them almost without thought. 

He was shaking, he realized, to his utter humiliation, and to make things worse, his fighter noticed. How could he not? He cupped Amon's face, blue eyes on him with too much swimming in them. He closed his own eyes, and tried to withdraw, get away, but his fighter kept him there. “Hey,” He was trying to make Amon look at him, but he _couldn't_. “Why am I getting the feeling you haven't told me something?” 

Amon still couldn't look at him, but apparently, that was enough of an answer. His fighter wasn't a stupid man, after all. 

“You idiot,” His fighter rubbed his temple. “That's something you tell a guy, typically.” His lips against Amon's jawline were both welcome and embarrassing. “Calm down, alright? I can feel you shaking, and not in a good way.” He stroked Amon's back, knuckles between his shoulder blades, a gesture meant to ease him. He was a little disconcerting how quickly it made him feel a little boneless, his head lolling forward. He'd had no idea something could feel that good. 

Another kiss was pressed to his jaw, and he turned so that the next one landed on his mouth. Kissing at least he could handle, even if they were naked in a bath together. Seventeen he may be, but even he couldn't get hard again this fast. For now, this was just about kissing, about being close. 

“Get the feeling we're going to need all those tokens.” 

Amon opened his eyes, and raised his eyebrows. “You wish.” 

His fighter smiled happily. “There's my boy.” 

“I am not 'your boy'.” He said, sliding off his fighter's lap, and over to the spout. He drained the water again, his fighter settling back, arms up on the edge of the bath. This time, he picked a different combination. 

He sat down beside his fighter on the bench, the man tracing something in the condensation on the tile. “What is that?” He asked, curious, brushing his hair behind his ear. It was odd, to have it down, the wet strands plastered to his skin. 

“Oh, my name.” His fighter explained, and Amon tilted his head so he could see them clearly. 

It occurred to Amon, for the first time, that he had no idea what his fighter's name was. “Your name is Lieu.” 

His fighter raised his eyebrows at him. “I never told you my name, did I?” Amon shook his head, not all that concerned. What was a name? It wasn't like he knew Amon's real name. “What have you been calling me?” 

He hadn't thought about it until now, as he realized how he had been referring to him as _his_. “It doesn't matter.” He leaned on his shoulder. “We don't use the same writing system, in the North Pole. How would you write my name?” 

“Amon? I guess there's a few ways,” His fighter, Lieu, went over them as the bath filled, Amon keeping his head where it was.


	5. Interlude: Hwan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief look into Hwan's head, and what goes on in the tea house at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I dunno. This isn't a real update, just something I felt like writing.

Hwan was surprised by the knock on his door, after Amon left. He checked through the peephole, and, now even more surprised, slid the door back to reveal Reza. He only watched the door during the day, and his shift must be over, he supposed. What the man wanted was the real question, though. 

He kept his dressing robe closed with a hand, looking Reza in the eye, hard as it was. His face was such a mess, like a melted candle, and it frightened him. “What is it? Is someone asking for me?”

“Healer said Jin's been beating you.” Hwan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Amon was such a nosy little do-gooder. “That true?” 

“Jin likes to play a little rougher than I'm used to, is all.” Reza frowned, or, well, Hwan was rather sure he was frowning. It was hard to tell, sometimes. “I needed the healer. Why? Is is a problem?” He hoped Reza hadn't picked now to throw his weight around. The man was higher-ranking than Hwan had originally given him credit for. The only reason he was hanging around here during the day was because of his scarring. It apparently made it too painful for him to spend time outside in the sunshine. 

Reza shook his head. “That's not what I have a problem with.” It was odd. Most of the brutes he worked for would have invited themselves into his room by now, but Reza just stood outside. “Letting us in your rooms is just a courtesy. He doesn't have the right to hurt you.”

“Have to keep the merchandise in good condition, after all.” Hwan quipped, playing with his braid. The gangster didn't find it funny at all though, judging from how serious he still looked. “This isn't a big deal.”

“Needing a healer is a big deal.” Reza insisted, putting his hand on the door frame beside Hwan. He was uncomfortably close, at this point. “You should have said something.” 

He eyed Reza's bare hand, the mottled red that swirled just above his thumb. He was missing two fingers, his ring finger and little finger, just burned stubs. He found himself wondering what the scars felt like, as he twirled his braid. Eventually, Reza was going to want that 'courtesy', and he, like almost everyone else with a taste for men, seemed to like looking at him. It would probably be him he asked for. 

He sighed, and leaned on the frame, his hair brushing Reza's hand. “You're still new at the whoring business, aren't you?” When the man scowled, at least that expression was easy to read, he smiled up at him, probably more cattily than was needed. “This kind of thing happens, dearest.”

Reza's good eye narrowed, as he leaned forward into Hwan's face. “Let's get one thing straight here. I am not your client. So don't talk to me like you can manipulate me, and _don't_ use those damn pet names on me.” This close, Hwan could see the tiniest shining burn scars across the good half of his face. For the first time, he wondered what had happened to him. 

“Understood.” He replied, in his more natural voice, even as he saw Reza's good eye wander down to his exposed collarbone, where the grip on his robe had loosened. Self-conscious, he pulled it tighter, and saw Reza comprehend why. He actually felt a pang of guilt over that, after Amon's holier-than-thou lecture. “Anything else?” 

“No.” He took a step back, his eye leaving Hwan to look at his door. “Why are there flowers? I thought your name used different characters?” 

“It does.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you know that?” 

“I saw it on the registry for the house.” 

Hwan looked at the thing disdainfully. “Well, the one on the registry is correct. I've just never gotten it changed.” 

Reza exhaled hard, and looked at Hwan again, only the good side of his face in focus in the shadowy hallway. Even without the scarring, there hadn't been much to look at anyway. He wasn't unfortunate, just nondescript, the kind of face you never remembered. “Jin won't be a problem anymore.” He said, to Hwan's surprise. 

“Are you serious?” 

The man gave him that heavy look again. “I'm in charge of this place. If I say no, that's the decision.”

Hwan smirked up at him. “And what if Zolt was the one pushing me around?” He just couldn't help himself, could he? He had to tease.

Reza didn't turn angry though, just smiled, or, well, he thought it was a smile. It was easier to tell if he looked at the eye, the way it crinkled at the corner. “Shin would gut him first, if Zolt's fingers started to wander. He doesn't share well.” He looked at Hwan, his full face again. “I'm here to protect you, you know. Don't let me find out from some healer that you're getting knocked around bad enough that I need to worry.” 

He didn't know what to say that. He never knew what to say to Reza, half the time, too distracted by his face more often than not. “I need to get ready.” 

“Fine.” Reza left, and he slid the door shut. 

In his room, he changed into his work clothes. Flattering silks that were easy to slip out of if needed, and of course, that was always needed. He undid his plait, brushed his hair out, and combed oil through it. Ari had heated it between his palms earlier, so it was still smooth and straight as he re-braided it, this time with a bit of thread to throw some color in. 

In the box he kept his hair pieces in, his fingers brushed the paper of the last telegram from his father, asking for money, as usual. After he'd sold Hwan and Hye to the house in Ba Sing Se, he'd managed to stay out of debt for all of a year. Luckily for him, his brother Yun had turned thirteen, and had been sold as well. 

By the time he'd been sold to the house in Omashu, his father was again, deeply in debt. Sung had been sold then, and after that, their father had been out of children. He and Hye were paid off, and earning, so now their father solicited them every chance he got. 

He'd send him a little, eventually, after he'd sworn himself hoarse and declared he wouldn't give him one yuan. He always gave in, too guilty over the thought of the man dying in the gutter, after the local Triad broke his legs. 

By the time he was dressed, it was time to go downstairs. The apprentices had already prepared the tea and were working on the food for the evening. 

“You're wanted in the Lotus Room,” The house manager said, as an apprentice handed him a tray. “The Boss is here.” 

Reza was right, he had to admit, as he knelt on the floor, tray beside him, and knocked before sliding the door open. Zolt liked him as a server, and his eyes definitely wandered, but his hands never did. Didn't stop him from making the comments. “Well, if it isn't my favorite Earth Kingdom boy,” He purred. 

Hwan smiled at him, as Shin rolled his eyes. Reza had just confirmed what everyone already knew, and that was that the boss was fucking the young waterbender. He sat much lower at the table than Zolt though, still rather low in ranking. Reza sat on his right, and his left hand was empty. The non-bender bastard was absent. 

Bastard might be a little unfair, he thought, as he went through the motions of smiling and pouring drinks. He never touched Hwan, barely looked at him actually. But he threw around the word 'whore' a little too freely, and beyond that, Hwan couldn't help but feel a sting of betrayal when it came to him. He was a _non-bender_ , and he sat at Zolt's left hand, one of his most trusted. _Bastard_.

“Hwan,” Jin, great. But before Jin could touch him, a burst of flame cut between them. Hwan jumped back in surprise, barely keeping his balance on the matted floor, while Jin swore. “The fuck, Reza?” 

The scarred man lowered his hand. “Consider your house privileges revoked, Jin. We're not going to make any money with bruised whores.” 

Hwan didn't look at him as he straightened himself. It shouldn't have hurt. He _was_ a whore. 

“You damaging my merchandise, Jin?” Zolt asked. 

“Had to have a healer come in for Hwan and Taruk. That's money out of the house's finances, to pay for your lack of control.” He said. “It's not my problem if you can't get it up. Don't take it out on my whores.” 

Jin sneered. “Yeah, I think we know what whore you're talking about.” He shot Hwan a look, and Hwan looked at the mats demurely, not eager to get hit in front of these people. “He's not yours. Even Hwan can't pretend to like your ugly face. Why can't I have some fun?” 

Reza stood, and before Hwan could so much as move, he'd hauled Jin to his feet, expression promising danger if Jin opened his mouth one more time. “They're all mine, Jin. If you touch so much as a cook in this house, I will take your hand off. Are we clear?” 

The earthbender looked at Reza hard, but then turned his eyes down. “Yeah, we're clear.” 

Zolt was openly chuckling at the whole scene, signaling for Hwan to refill his sake cup. Hwan gathered himself up, and stood, not looking at Reza as the man took his seat again. “Hey,” Zolt said, before Hwan could turn away. “Hwan, that's your name?”

“Yes.” Reza didn't put his cup forth for more, but that wasn't unusual. The man didn't drink much. Hwan took his cup away, and gave him a new one, filling it with his tea instead. 

The Boss looked down the table at the subdued Jin. “I want to test out a theory. See, handsome a man as Jin is, I bet he's so repugnant, you'd rather kiss Reza than him, wouldn't you?” 

Hwan pressed his mouth against what would have been the corner of Reza's, had it not been burned away. It was strange, like twisted leather, almost. Reza held as still as a statue, and Hwan withdrew without expression as Zolt and the rest laughed. 

He picked up his tray, and left the room, to get everything refilled. He was waiting by the kitchen door, when Reza appeared, his face neutral. 

“I don't need you to defend me.” He said. “I can handle Jin.” 

“Yeah, you were doing so well before.” Reza sounded irritated now, and Hwan looked away. Reza was still his boss. “ _I_ don't need _you_ to play your little games with me.” He was looming over Hwan in the hallway, Hwan stuck between him and the wall. 

Hwan sneered. “That wasn't a game. I really would rather fuck you, than let Jin so much as _touch_ me.” 

Reza's face was just a breath from his. “Lucky for you, I don't sleep with whores.” 

The kitchen door opened, and they sprang apart, as though they had been doing something wrong. The maid carrying the new tray was too well-trained to see it, her eyes blank, as she handed the tray to Hwan. 

He took it, and went back to the Lotus Room. He didn't care where Reza went, at this point. 

Back in the Lotus Room, Jin's eyes were boring into him, even as everyone else laughed, already a little drunk on the good rice wine. “Lieu's been earning good.” Zolt was saying, to the man who normally sat beside said non-bender. “Never seen anyone control a fight the way he does.”

“We're making a killing off the bets.” The man replied, nodding, a ledger in front of him. “Reza's got this place running good, so I think that if we combine that revenue with the bets, we can buy the stock off Sato. He's still playing the waiting game with us, but I think if he sees enough yuan, we can get him. We can turn a good profit off those weapons of his with the local pirates.” 

Hwan kept his face neutral, choosing not to hear the business dealings, and as the night went on, and they grew drunker, business talk was dropped in favor of pleasure. A Water Tribesman he couldn't remember the name of was taking every opportunity to feel Hwan up, so he was probably going to take him upstairs in a few minutes. When Zolt stood, and pulled Shin up, his hand on the young waterbender's ass, that signified the end of the meeting altogether. 

He tugged the Water Tribesman up, the man following like a dog, and led him out of the room, the man falling over him, arms around his waist. 

At least he wasn't Jin, he thought, counting his blessings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N And now back to the people you care about!


	6. Chasing visions of our futures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letting people close is not a decision we make lightly. Amon knows that better than most, but still, he lets his fighter wrap himself around his heart without a struggle. He also takes his examination to become a healer, and does some research on the less-fortunate of Republic City. 
> 
> Amon always wanted everyone to be treated fairly, and equally. Slowly, he is learning there are more divides in this world than just between benders and non-benders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N So.
> 
> The response to this has been...enthusiastic. Very much so. There's apparently a TV Tropes page. I. Hm. I, um. Thank you? Also, yeah. I'm a little afraid of all of you. And the liking of Hwan and Reza, that's a surprise too. I was expecting their bits to be considered tedious. 
> 
> Okay, that said, the information about sex workers and such, a lot of the things said about the ones in the Fire Nation were taken from the laws in Amsterdam concerning them and the red light district. Anything I use in reference will also probably be from those laws, or other countries where prostitution is legal, since I am rather unclear about how it works legally, and would rather use real-world references than just guess. Anything you spot that seems off, please point it out. The quotation from a judge is actually based on a real ruling a judge in Australia made about two or three years ago. Yes, it really was that infuriating.
> 
> The information about healers and medics is even less informed. I did not study the human body very much in my area of science, and my only friend in the medical field is an oral surgeon's assistant. So, once again, something you spot that is glaringly wrong, or just stupid, please tell me.

They had tested five bath tokens now. His fighter, Lieu, rested against the side. He claimed his back was sore, and though there was nothing Amon could do for that, the hot water could. Amon felt good, light, as he floated in the water, occasionally letting himself sink below the surface, waterbending himself down. The water wrapped around him, tender and warm, happy. 

His fighter was watching him with half-lidded eyes now, the blue of them dark from how his pupils were dilated. He was waiting, instead of reaching, waiting for Amon to come back to him, confident he would, as soon as he was ready. 

He was almost ready, he thought, lulled into a state of contentment for the time being. He wasn't hard, but there was the low burn of want settled in his belly, anticipating what would happen soon. 

This time, when he came over, he rolled his head forward, basking in the glow of it. He was in his fighter's arms, in the warmth, and for once, he felt completely fine. He breathed in, the smell of water and soap and minerals clinging to his fighter's neck. The damp heat had soaked into both of them at this point, their skin slick with it as they pressed together. 

“Spirits, you feel good,” His fighter's voice was a low rumble above him. “Little too good. Might want to give me a second.” 

Instead, Amon slotted them closer together, smiling lazily. “We should finish what we started.” 

“What do you mean by that?” His fighter still sounded a little asleep, but that was fitting. It all sort of felt a little dreamlike, like something he could barely control. Like a dream, it was just going to happen, and it was best he didn't disturb it. Dreams were important, after all. 

He came up off his fighter's shoulder, and kissed him again, opening his mouth to him, even as he felt out everything around them on the shelves. The thick feeling of oil tugged the correct string, and he summoned it, one hand manipulating it while he kept kissing his fighter. He would have fallen apart earlier, but now, with Tui and La all around him, he had nothing to worry about. They were his, and he was theirs, and here, nothing would hurt him, nothing could so much as touch him unless he willed it, not even his fighter. He was powerful, absolutely so. 

The oil held itself separate as it slipped below the water, and into him. The intrusion was nothing, just a part of himself, really. His fighter gasped though, as he let some wind around the other man's cock, coating him with it. There were no smart comments, no jokes, nothing but his fighter kissing him. 

He lifted Amon up, settled him where he needed to be, then guided him down, one hand around himself, the other on Amon's hips, Amon balancing himself with his hands on Lieu's shoulders. 

It hurt and didn't hurt, all at the same time. It stung, sort of, but his body ached to accommodate through the uncomfortableness, like it already knew this, on some primal level. He took in a breath, then another, adjusting, as his fighter kneaded his shoulders. Their foreheads touched, Amon looking down into Lieu's blue eyes. “You okay?” 

Amon nodded, as he closed his eyes, concentrating on his body. The energy in the water pulled at him, pushed him, reminded him with a gentle touch that it was here, all around, even in the air. That he didn't need to be scared, not right now. 

The new tension at the base of his spine uncoiled, slipped away, and his head fell back, a soft sound escaping his mouth. “Move,” 

His fighter needed no more directions, never seemed to need be told twice. The first movement was shallow, and the sting resurfaced, but quickly faded. He wondered if he was unconsciously healing himself, as it all happened, but he wasn't sure if he could do that. He had bended in dreams before, woken to ice around him, but he had never healed. 

Now he was starting to move, the motions still not deep, not what his fighter really wanted, but what Amon could handle. That was until his fighter moved a little harder, either by accident or loss of control, and touched something that made Amon's breath catch in his throat. 

“There?” His fighter asked.

“There,” He answered, and his fighter made the same movement, harder and deeper. It was still strange, but good strange, very good. “Again.” 

Lieu obeyed, and now, it definitely felt good, felt like he'd been told it would feel. He had been clutching his fighter rather tightly, and now he loosened his grip, let his hands move, one sliding up into Lieu's fine hair, the other around his shoulders. “I want you so bad, can't even tell you,” His fighter said, voice husky like before. “Saw you standing there, glaring at me, and I wanted you,” Something about his voice was going straight to Amon's cock, as his fighter palmed him, working him up to full hardness. “Didn't think I'd get you,” He angled his face up, so Amon kissed him, breaking away to cry out when his fighter hit the spot inside so hard it caused a tremor up his spine. 

Around him, the water flowed up, and swirled, bending without his hands as his emotions ran high from the feeling, from knowing this man was in him, was a part of him. He had never allowed himself to be so close to another human being, not physically, and certainly not in the way his fighter had worked his way under Amon's skin and against his heart. 

His fighter tensed under him, breathing out hard as his fingers dug into Amon's skin. “Sorry,” He muttered. “Been awhile since I've been in someone.” Amon could barely keep still, as his fighter's hand worked him, the water sliding around them still as he rocked into him. His own body drew taut, too much sensation all at once, and he came with a choked gasp.

Gently, his fighter lifted his hips, his cock sliding out of Amon, leaving a sting in its wake. Amon's knees hurt, from pressing into the stone, and when he let the water help him float away, there was a buzz in his calves from the pressure of kneeling so long. 

He took in a breath, then another, as his fighter stretched against the rim of the tub, cracking his neck first one way, then the other. His heart was racing again, as he tried to process the entirety of it, the enormous step he'd just taken. Had this been too fast? An ill-thought decision spurred by eagerness and lust? 

It didn't feel wrong, he thought, ducking his head below the water again. It had felt good, though there was now the numb warning signs of an ache he'd feel later, if he didn't do something about it. Still submerged, he encouraged the water to flow inside, soothe the bothered area. Hwan had assured him it would stop happening, after his body adjusted to this kind of sex, or at least, he would adjust better. 

He wondered at himself, as he came up for air. What was he doing? How was it so easy for this man to slip past his walls, when Amon had spent so long building them up? 

“Come here,” His fighter was peeking at him from under half-closed eyes. 

Amon sat down beside him again, his fighter putting his head down on his shoulder. “Want to get dinner? Or lunch? Can't remember.” 

“I want to sleep.” He did, too, odd, though he was hungry as well. 

“We'll go back to my place, then eat.” His fighter offered, and Amon nodded, agreeing to that plan. 

After they were dressed, with a minimal amount of kissing involved in the process, and not all on his fighter's part now, they left the place. His fighter seemed to think he now had every right to invade Amon's space, and to his chagrin, he found he didn't much mind, even as the man started playing with his hair, halfway down the street. 

“How many times do I have to tell you,” He warned, despite the smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. 

“It smells weird. Different.” 

“You are obsessed with my hair.” He shoved at him, less forcefully than he might have, had it been anyone else in the world. “The bathhouse had different things than I use. It all probably has perfume in it.” He wrinkled his nose at the thought. He hadn't even considered that when he was using it, just enjoyed being allowed something so nice. “What does it smell like?” 

His fighter shrugged. “I don't know. Weird.” 

Amon sighed, and rolled his eyes, frustrated with him now, but still allowing him his closeness. He smiled, even, as his fighter kissed him on the cheek, the arm around his waist loose, not possessive. Just a way to touch, a way to lean in and smile against Amon's skin. 

In his fighter's apartment, he placed his bath things down on the floor by the counter, where Lieu put his down. “You sure I can't smoke?” Amon narrowed his eyes at him in answer, and his fighter sighed in a very put-upon way. 

Amon toed off his shoes, and laid down on the bed, the soft pillow good on his head. He'd waterbended his hair dry, but he could still feel the edges of dampness behind his ears and the nape of his neck. He hadn't exactly been too focused on the task when he was doing it, a little distracted by the mouth on his shoulder, the way it felt to have his fighter pressed all along his back. 

He closed his eyes and tried to keep his face neutral. He was rather good at disguising how he felt, thankfully. 

His fighter was fiddling with the radio beside the bed, trying to find a station. He apparently found what he was looking for, and curled onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Amon, his head resting on Amon's stomach, above where his robes were knotted off. He had bent his legs in a strange position that he seemed comfortable in regardless, to keep his tall form completely on the bed. 

Almost cautiously, he raised his hand over his fighter's hair for just a second, before settling it there, working his fingers into his scalp. 

_“And now, faithful listeners, it's time for another installment of The Exciting Adventures of Wang Fire!”_ The announcer had the affected enthusiasm of serial hosts, Amon noted. Music meant to rile people up began, loud drums and stringed instruments. 

“What is this?” He asked, his eyes closed, lids heavy.

“Wang Fire,” His fighter mumbled, and he realized the man was already half asleep. He wasn't likely to get any good answers from him.

 _“Today's adventure: The Case of the Dianthus Kanzashi!”_

Amon settled in to listen, content.

-

The next few days in the clinic were busy, as they all prepared for their examination. Amon though, was more busy than the rest, because while during the day he was working and studying with his fellow apprentices, at night, he was spending time going over the laws of Republic City, in comparison to the laws of the Fire Nation.

The texts he needed were considered reference, to his annoyance, which meant he was not allowed to leave the library with them. It was slow work to begin with, the written script of them differentiating between the characters used in the Earth Kingdom, the ones used in the Fire Nation, and the texts that used both. He could read the Earth Kingdom script fairly well, after a year spent there, but the Fire Nation script was considerably harder. He found himself having to refer to translation texts far too much, and if he could get through a whole three pages in the little time he had to spare, it left him with a headache. 

What he had found coincided with what Hwan had said. The Fire Nation's laws on the sex trade were considerably more lax, and with much more emphasis on protecting the workers. The ability to get a license to run a brothel was stricter, and required background checks for syndicate relations. Apparently, the Fire Nation did not like the idea of the organized crime families controlling the sex trade, but not for the reasons Amon would have thought.

 _“All of our people, regardless of profession, deserve the same protection from harm, and the ability to work without fear.”_

Fire Lord Zuko had said it some forty years ago, when he made the laws even stricter. Their sex workers were required to have a permit, and submit to a weekly examination, to keep outbreaks down. It made sense, to Amon. Any worker could be a carrier without knowing it. 

The workers there kept fifty percent of their earnings, as well, and the tax didn't match Republic City's. It was much lower, more fitting the standard. They were unionized too, he realized. 

Meanwhile, here in Republic City, Hwan's estimate of losing seventy-five percent of his income was above average. They were only due twenty percent, by law of the city. And they were not allowed to unionize, he noted, frowning. Unlike the Fire Nation though, there were few background checks on brothel owners. If what had been happening in the Fire Nation was happening here, that meant that the organized crime here, the ones Hwan had called Triads, were likely controlling them, and that probably meant money had exchanged hands to keep them from their rights.

They weren't even protected from rape, he read, disgusted by the decision, the judge's words reeking of disdain.

_“Though we find the act of rape to be a heinous crime, one must call into question whether or not we can truly classify a forced act of sex on someone who has chosen to work in the trade of that very act as a legitimate case of rape. I find this idea distasteful, and disrespectful to those who have been truly assaulted in such a terrible way. It is my reasoning that forced sex upon a sex worker is better classified as 'theft of services', and as such, the sentencing shall be-”_

He couldn't read any further, his anger clouding his vision. Hwan had told him, but Amon hadn't quite understood the extent of just how bad it really was. He, and others like him, were being treated like they were no better than chattel, by a city that claimed to be the beacon of hope for equality. The hypocrisy of it all enraged him. 

Especially since he knew for a fact many of the people in charge of these laws visited tea houses like Hwan's. How many times had he casually dropped a name, with an eye roll and a joke about their preferences? Amon had never been actively listening, had hardly been interested. He had only smirked at newspaper headlines featuring the leaders in question, remembering Hwan's jokes.

But now it suddenly wasn't so funny. And for that matter, why were the workers the ones being punished? They were only supplying where there was a demand. 

That had led him to look up the laws for what happened to those who assaulted sex workers. Those were pathetic, mere lip service. An assault against a dockworker like what had happened to Taruk would have earned the assailant eight years, at the very least, if they could not prove intent to actually kill. But because he was a prostitute, it became a year, if they could even convict. 

It all unsettled him rather badly.

All of the new information, on top of studying for his exam, did not leave him any time to see his fighter again. Thankfully, the man didn't seem to mind, though he had ducked into the clinic on the pretense of having hurt his hands, three days after the bathhouse. 

Amon inspected his knuckles with suspicion. “This looks like you punched someone in the face and didn't ice them after.” His fighter was normally much more cautious with the use of his hands during a fight, though Amon had healed the swelling before. 

His fighter grinned at him. “Does that sound like something I would do?” 

“Yes.” He healed them cautiously, worried about the joints of his right index finger. They were perilously close to coming out of place, so he was careful, as he healed them. “Why did you hit them so many times?”

His fighter shrugged. “You know all that stuff people say about earthbenders being strong, and persistent, and enduring?” Amon nodded absently, concentrating on the delicate work. “The other word for that is hardheaded. As in, sometimes they need sense beaten into them.” He said it all rather casually, despite how his hands had to be hurting him.

He finished, and was unsurprised to feel his fighter's lips on the back of his neck when he turned away from him to wash the bowl out. “No,” He said, vehement, but his fighter was smiling against his skin. 

“Just a kiss?” He cajoled. “Just give me five minutes.”

Amon considered it, or pretended to. He was pretty sure they could both keep themselves under control for five minutes, which was about how long they would have before someone wondered why such a minor healing was taking so long. 

In the end, he gave in, like he knew he would, and he ended up getting five minutes of breathlessly happy kissing before his fighter withdrew, as promised. “When's your exam?” He asked, as he pulled his parka back on. 

“In two days. It begins in the morning, with the written, then lunch, then we have the practical. I'll be done by dinner.” If he passed, that was. He wasn't sure why he was suddenly nervous over the whole affair. He knew he was in no danger of failing. “Why?”

“I'll come see you. We can celebrate.” He was oddly touched by the idea that something important to him was important to this man too. 

He nodded, as his fighter leaned in for one more kiss. “I would like that.” 

“Because you like me.” The man teased, unbearably confident in his standing, as he played with the end of one of Amon's side tails. 

“You're incorrigible.” He managed, without breaking tone or expression. 

“Can't insult me with words I don't know.” His fighter gave him one last kiss, and then they had to leave the private room, because any longer, and Amon would be teetering on the edge of irresponsible. The waiting room wasn't full, but it was getting there, and some of the patients actually needed him. 

He left, and Amon got to work. 

He decided to study with his fellow apprentices that night, but when he sat down with them, Penna and Pasook were staring at him. “What?” He asked, opening the text he wanted to review. Hands were so intricate, his fighter had reminded him, and he wanted to make sure he had it all down for sure. 

“Just, you're smiling.” Penna said, smiling herself, in a soft, friendly sort of way. 

He hadn't realized that, hadn't realized how light he'd been feeling all day, until now. “It's been a good day.” He shrugged, as he carefully read the details around the anatomical sketch of an outstretched hand. 

“It's a good look for you.” She went back to her own text, a case study on some kind of complicated heart problem. “So, what have you been doing? You've been at the library a lot lately.” 

Still reading the notes, but capable of speaking at the same time, he explained his research. Penna was listening with interest, while Pasook scribbled down notes, head in hand. He told her how he had become interested in the subject, and then waited, to see what she had to say. Penna had grown up in the city, and she was bound to have something useful to contribute. 

She nodded, when he got to the part about not being allowed to unionize. “They're not the only ones. The grocers wanted to form a union too, to keep the older families from driving the shipping prices up, but they got denied. So did the butchers, and the tanners. Basically, anyone who is considered working class, or unseemly. And getting into the those nicer jobs isn't easy. You have to be approved by the guild, basically, to be accepted as an apprentice into any of the skilled labors like metalwork, and to get approved as an apprentice, you have to be from the kind of family the guild likes.”

“What do you mean?” He re-read the notes a previous healer had carefully penned about the arrangement of the chi lines in the joints of the hand, reminding himself that it worked as a loop. “What are the right kind of families?”

Pasook snorted, and Amon glanced at him, surprised he was actively listening. “Pure blood, basically.” Penna frowned, but didn't disagree. 

Amon's mind briefly flashed to his fighter, and his blue eyes. “Mixed families are out, then?” 

“Pretty much. And even if you're pure blood, you have to be the right kind of pure blood. It's fucking bullshit. It's why my parents put me here, with the clinic. Our family is pretty low, not going to lie. And I'm the first bender in three generations. No way any of them were going to accept me. I can't be expected to father more benders.” He rolled his eyes, and went back to his text, though he gripped his brush a little tighter than he had before. “Even benders have it bad. They have to prove that their family has only made that kind of bender for three generations. And typically, the only kids who really get apprenticeships are the ones with family members already in the guilds.” 

Annoyed by this information, or perhaps frustrated was the better word, Amon looked down at the characters, not comprehending them. “So that means the best candidates are passed over in favor of the ones they like.”

Penna nodded. “I mean, most of the kids from those families grew up in that kind of thing, so it's not like they're a bunch of untalented leeches, or anything. But sometimes people who really deserve the apprenticeship lose out because they don't have the right name. My cousin is one of the best metalbenders in his class, but getting an apprenticeship just won't happen, because he's mixed.” She sighed, her fingers loosening on her brush. “It's just not fair for him.”

It was coming to occur to Amon that it wasn't fair for a lot of people, not even here, in Republic City. 

There was flurry of movement by the entrance to the common area, and a loud voice trying to apologize. It was Yasu, he realized, and was standing before he knew it, to grab the firebender and lead him over to their table. He rationalized it as owing the man a good turn, after he'd caught Amon when he nearly fainted, those few weeks ago. 

He sat down with a grin, his crossed legs half under the table as he happily looked around. 

“Um, Yasu, not that we're not happy to see you,” Pasook hazarded. “But why are you here? Your examinations are next week.” Yasu, being a firebender, wouldn't be classified as a healer, but instead, a medic, and as such, had a whole different written and practical. “And why did you just take out Haru?” The other young apprentice he'd taken out with his clumsiness was still shooting them hateful glares from the table by the door. 

“I wasn't expecting him to be sprawled out by the door.” He replied, slumping over on the table. “Man, it's cold in here.” Except it suddenly wasn't. These were the tables used in winter, and had a thick blanket hanging off the edge that pooled on the floor, for tucking feet under. The underneath, inside the blanket, was now warm, cozy even, and Amon hadn't even realized how cold his feet were until they started to tingle with feeling. 

Yasu grinned at them. 

“Never mind, shut up Pasook,” Penna said, pushing her legs further under the table. 

“Did you hear me complaining?” He groused, giving her a half-hearted glare. “I still want to know what you're doing in here.”

“Ah, see, you've hit upon my brilliant plan.” He said, with a wry grin. “No one will think to look for me in here.” 

Pasook laughed, and even Amon found himself smiling a little, over his notes, as he and Penna drilled each other on chi networks. 

He was good company, cheerful and content to stay where he was with them, not even seeming bored by their studying. Most of the texts they had out were useless to him, and as such, were of no interest. While Amon, and the other apprentices, could use their bending to see the chi lines in a body, firebending came from the breath, from the inner fire. They weren't using the vast network of energy in the world the way earth and water did. 

He wasn't sure how airbending worked, now that he thought of it, barely understood firebending. He had read before that it was hard for even Avatars to understand the bending opposite of them in the cycle, so he wasn't too torn up about it. 

Still, he made a mental note to see if the library had any texts on airbending. If not, maybe he could arrange a trip out to the temple, and see what they had on hand. It wasn't like the Avatar was there most of the time, though purportedly his son, the only other airbender in existence, was. 

In any case, Yasu was good for fetching tea, holding flashcards and keeping their legs warm. 

They were all headed up to bed, when Amon realized he had left his notes back on the table. 

“I'll walk back with you.” Yasu offered, and Amon was grateful. It was colder, now that the common areas were completely dark, and Yasu's body heat kept him from needing anything more than his robes. 

When they were headed back, Yasu stretched, and the sleeve of his shirt fell. 

“Is that a tattoo?” Amon asked, curious about the quick glimpse of red he'd seen. 

Yasu's expression went hard, as he lowered his arms. “It's not what you think.” He said, quickly, words sharp. 

It turned Amon wary. “I wasn't thinking anything.” But maybe he should be, was what Yasu's reaction told him. 

“Kanna got me out of that stuff.” He kept explaining, despite what Amon thought was pretty obvious confusion. “So you don't need to tell anyone.”

“It would help if I knew what I wasn't telling people.” He pointed out, and when his hand touched Yasu's arm, the other didn't stop him, but let him slide the sleeve up to see work a bright red bird on his shoulder. “What is it?”

“The phoenix. For the Agni Kai.” He meant the Triad, not the duel, Amon knew, and his eyes narrowed at the man. “Don't tell anyone, please. I swear I'm straight now.” 

He was almost sure Yasu wasn't lying, but now his curiousity was piqued. He wanted to ask, quite badly, what kind of thing led someone as genuinely goodhearted as Yasu seemed to be to join what Hwan and his fighter had painted as a rather violent group. Asking seemed wrong though, invasive. And hadn't Penna said something about this? That they were all running from something? 

He smoothed Yasu's sleeve down, and the man's shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you.”

He nodded, still not sure what he thought of the whole thing. He wanted to do more research on the Triads, actually, try to understand what the point was. So far, all he'd seen of them were things written down in passing, or things blamed on them. Nothing about their history, or just how far their reach went. 

“Come on, let's get back to the dorms.” Yasu said, and Amon followed, still deep in thought. 

They had only one more day of studying, and then their examination was held. The written section proved to be as difficult as expected, and he found himself near frantic at one point, worrying over whether he was mixing up the chi line networks in the legs, then again, when the exam started presenting case studies. 

Though this, time, it was for an entirely different reason.

_Patient A has been found with collapsed veins and internal bleeding. The organs show signs of bruising, though there is no outward sign of trauma. Please list all possibilities for what has happened to Patient A, with no other symptoms or trauma given._

He had to squeeze his eyes shut, had to _focus_ , as he answered the question. 

_Bloodbending_ , he wrote, at the end of the list, and then quickly turned the page over. 

They broke for lunch, many relieved to be done with the written, but just as many worried over the coming practical. 

For that at least, there were no surprises for him, nor worries. This he could do.

They waited, outside on the steps in a large group, while they were graded, Penna with her palms pressed together, praying hard, Pasook looking a little green. He had no idea how he looked, as they all watched the door. 

Finally, a healer in their whites came out, and posted a list on the door. They all held as still as statues, until the door closed behind them, and then everyone rushed forward, reading off their grades with excitement and sorrow. Amon had already had ideas about who would be apprenticing for another year, so he wasn't surprised by the disappointed ones. 

Patiently, he waited, until the crowd had cleared a bit, not eager to be surrounded by the press of bodies. Penna had her fingers digging into his arm again, but he hardly noticed, as the three of them searched for their names.

Pasook cheered when he found his, a passing mark beside both written and practical. Penna had barely scraped by on her written, but her practical was perfect, so her name ended up on closer to the bottom in the ranking. 

Amon couldn't find his name. He didn't understand.

“Whoa,” Pasook elbowed him to get his attention, then pointed up. “Look at that, you got top of the class.” 

He had. He didn't know what to think of that.

Penna cheered, and hugged him, Pasook doing the same, much to his discomfort, and thankfully both released him after only a second. “We have to go celebrate!” Pasook said, slinging an arm around Amon. “We'll go get drinks!” 

“Ooh, we can go down to the Beating Drum with everyone!” Penna suggested. 

The idea was automatically distasteful. The two meant well, but there was no doubt they would tell everyone there, and he already had enough issues with being in crowds. He didn't want the attention turned on him in that kind of situation, where he couldn't think of what to say, too many questions and voices. 

Besides, he couldn't. “I already have plans.” 

“That you do.” They all started, and when he looked over his shoulder, he saw his fighter there, standing behind them, grinning. “Top of your class, huh? Knew you were smart, but damn.” He was being openly appreciative, as he looked at Amon, enough so that he looked away, back at the list. He still couldn't shake it, that warmth that spread through him when he was around this man. 

He didn't want to, anymore. 

“But going out with your class is a tradition.” Pasook said, sounding a bit petulant. “And you're the top of the class. You can't just skip.” 

He could, and he would, he almost said, but stopped himself. Pasook didn't mean anything by it. “I don't like crowds, very much.” He didn't like eyes on him, didn't like being seen and judged, and maybe found wanting. “No one will miss me.” 

Pasook made a face, and gestured between Penna and himself. “Hello? Your friends? Right here? We would miss you.” 

He really didn't want to, but then his fighter was interjecting. “We could go, for a few minutes, right? No need to break tradition.” He was making light of it, but offering a compromise, either way. 

Somehow, the idea of being out and about was easier to stomach, with the thought of this man beside him. 

He agreed, but they went to their dorms first, to change into something less formal than their apprentice robes. He wouldn't ever wear them again, he realized, with a pang of sadness he didn't quite understand. Carefully, he folded them up, smoothing down the fabric, and left them sitting on his bed. Apprentice robes were recycled, and his would soon be worn by someone else. 

His fighter was standing in the doorway. “Shut that,” He told him, quietly, not eager for anyone in the hallway to see him bare-chested, and the man stepped into the room, sliding the door shut. He never needed to be told twice.

He dressed, not without a few nervous twinges in his stomach, at how his fighter watched him so candidly, without any shame. He put a blue robe on, belting it tightly, then combed his hair out. Still, his fighter did not touch, did not advance on him, even as his eyes dragged over Amon's loose hair. He gathered it back up neatly, and bound his two side tails again, lacing the ties with practiced fingers. 

Lieu was still watching, his eyes intent on Amon as he approached, and cupped his face, kissing him for the first time that day. 

The wall was somehow against his back before he quite knew what was happening, the kissing growing more heated, despite his attempts to step away. They weren't very dedicated attempts, admittedly. 

But his fighter flinched, and hissed in pain when Amon pressed to him, and he withdrew more determinedly, concerned. Carefully, he ran his hands up the man's front, opening his coat, a different one this time, with toggles on the front, until he found the damage. Bruising, bad bruising, all up his chest, and when he grabbed his hand, he saw how red and swollen the knuckles were.

“Did you lose?” He couldn't believe his fighter could lose a match, not with the way he fought, and indeed, he shook his head. “Why didn't you come to a healer sooner? Why didn't you come to me?” 

“Just happened last night. I'm fine. It'll heal on its own.”

“Why didn't you at least ice it?” He asked, ignoring him as he opened his flask, drawing out enough to cover the hurt area. “There's plenty of snow outside.” It wasn't real snow, or how Amon thought of snow, not just yet, still light dustings and ice, but more than enough to have reduced this. 

His fighter shrugged his jacket off and undid the clasps of his shirt, without being asked, so Amon could see the bruising. Hard strikes, he saw, as he followed the damaged lines, saw where the impact had been. Unusual, to go for the front of the chest in a fight like what Lieu did. 

When they were done, he pressed his palm against his fighter's chest, ostensibly to make sure there was no more pain. His bare palms pressed to his fighter's skin though, that had very little to do with healing, as he let himself wander up to his fighter's collarbone, until they were caught, held in place. 

He kissed the palm of one hand, then the other, before he turned his eyes back on Amon, and spirits, he didn't know what to do. 

“Amon, come on- oh, fuck, sorry!” Red-faced, Penna shut the door again, her nervous giggling heard through the door, as his fighter released him, and did up his shirt and coat again. 

His fighter was smiling too, and he smoothed down Amon's side tails, still affectionate, even as Amon cringed in embarrassment. “Let's go,” He said. “Be social.” Amon made a face that he thought properly conveyed how he felt about that idea, but his fighter just kissed him, grinning. 

A more timid knock came at the door. “Seriously, Pasook is ready to go.” She was still giggling, even when they emerged, and when they got downstairs, she saw Pasook's impatient face, and started again. 

The night was clear, though the streets were still slick from the sleet that had fallen earlier in the day, the icy rain that had mixed with the smoke from the factories lying in dirty, slushy piles. The streetlights were dimmer, from where the water had melted against their heat, but left the soot behind, and the effect, combined with the dirty slush, was like a sepia filter over everything. 

It was a nice effect, overall, he decided, as he and his fighter walked close together, bundled into their coats, a step or two behind Pasook and Penna. 

The bar was audible, from a block away, and Amon felt that nervous twist in his stomach. He hated this kind of thing. But his fighter's shoulder nudged his, just a little, but not a small enough gesture to be accidental. He looked up at him, and the man was already looking down, eyebrows raised. 

It was enough to get him through the loud cheering, and the eyes turned on him, most good-natured and happy for him, a few less so. Maybe people liked him more than he thought, he considered. 

Still, he was happy to leave, his ears ringing as they walked down the street, together and alone. 

It was starting to rain again, soft rain, barely a drizzle, but still cold, and he bended it away from the two of them. If that meant he had to stay very close to his fighter's body, well, that was just a happy coincidence. 

“I want tea.” He said, when they reached a row of quieter places. 

“And?” His fighter prompted, pausing on the sidewalk. “Water Tribe, Earth Kingdom, what?” Amon shrugged, so the man led them to a smaller shop, strung with paper lanterns, choosing the place on the second story, instead of the quiet bar on the first. 

This place was more traditional Fire Nation than Amon had ever been in. Like the tables in the commons, they were low to the floor, with floor cushions and soft mats like what had been in Hwan's room. The seating was raised, so that the servers could walk on hardwood floors, and every section was separated by painted wooden screens. 

A server attended them quickly, and poured tea for first Lieu, then him. “How may I assist you this evening, sir?” She asked, kneeling on the floor, head bowed in respect. It seemed strange, to Amon, but then, he knew very little about the manners of the Fire Nation. 

Lieu ordered, but then looked at Amon, considering him. “Do you drink alcohol?”

He shook his head. “I've never had a reason to.” He didn't particularly want to either. Alcohol led to more bending accidents than anything else. His fighter watched him, for a minute, then ordered a bottle of rice wine. 

“Top of your class.” He said, with a smirk. “I'm beginning to think I'm out of my league.” 

Amon didn't understand the phrase, but he was starting to give up on understanding most of the strange things people said here. “Can I ask you something?” He wondered if now was the appropriate time, but he couldn't see why it wasn't. When his fighter nodded, he continued. “Is it true you can't join the guilds, because you're mixed?” 

The man's eyes widened in surprise, before he shrugged. “It's a little more complicated than that. I'm not a popular mix, I'm a non-bender, and I'm not from an important family. I never had a chance, really.” He said it with a smile, like it didn't bother him anymore. “If you're the right mix, or if one parent married in to a high enough family, you can skirt the guidelines pretty well.” 

The server reappeared, holding a tray. With great care, she placed one fine cup in front of Lieu, then Amon, pouring for Lieu first before placing the bottle on the table and bowing. “Anything else?”

“No, we can pour for ourselves.” Lieu said, Amon frowning in lack of understanding, as he looked at the cup. 

“What does it taste like?” 

“Why don't you drink it and find out?” His fighter was smiling over his own cup. “You might like it.” 

Amon raised it to his mouth, getting a whiff of it when he did. He wasn't sure he liked it, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt to try. He took a sip, more than he meant to.

The reaction was immediate, as he coughed, covering his mouth. It was like rice, only wrong, and it burned his throat, as he coughed more. Lieu just laughed, as he pushed his own teacup over to Amon, so he could get the taste off his tongue, and soothe his throat. “That's disgusting,” He managed, after he'd finished the tea. 

His fighter just kept laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first time I drank sake, I almost spit it out. I was fifteen, and it was pretty awful.


	7. Interlude: Reza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after Amon and Lieu go to the bath house, Lieu goes to talk to Reza. Business is discussed, cigarettes are smoked, and tea cups are woefully abused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Yes, Driftwood, it is considered fanficception if you write fic about characters in a fic. That said, I don't mind if anyone plays with them, as long as you tell me. It's no big deal.

Reza was going over paperwork when Lieu came in, whistling. He took the seat opposite Reza, his legs crossed, and helped himself to a cigarette out of Reza's open case. “You mind?” He asked, holding it out.

Using his good hand, he lit the end by pinching it between his thumb and index finger. “So, where were you the other night?” 

“Getting laid.” He answered, inhaling. “Anything important happen?” 

He shook his head. “We just went over the finances, then Zolt wanted to talk about buying the White Lily House.” He lit a cigarette for himself, exhaling smoke as he rolled his shoulders. “It's a street over. Girls are well-rated.” 

Lieu shrugged. “Never been.” He tapped the cigarette on the edge of Reza's empty tea cup, as he himself had been doing. “Can we afford it?” 

“Chen thinks we could, in about a month, but he's more concerned about that deal with Sato. Says there's some pirates out on the borders who would pay a lot for those weapons, but they can't buy from Sato.” He liked the idea of weapon-running a lot more than this business. He didn't have anything against whoring, exactly, but it definitely didn't sit right with him either. And at least people didn't look at him weird when he was doing that kind of work, not like the whores did. 

It was part of the reason why he didn't like them. He could always see it, the looks they exchanged amongst themselves, trying to decide silently who had to sit with the scarred man. And inevitably, whoever drew the short string could never hide how horrified they were by him, by his mutilated face and hand. 

The ones like Hwan were less insulting, at least, not that he'd ever met any like him. The younger man never hid the fact that he found Reza disquieting, and for that, he was grateful. 

In any case, his dislike of the professionals was probably why he'd been put in charge of this place. Zolt trusted him to keep his hands to himself and handle the damned paperwork. He'd always had a good head for numbers, too. “Why didn't you go over this with Zolt?” He asked, curious. He was sure Zolt had mentioned having a morning meeting with the other lieutenant.

“He just gave me my schedule.” Lieu said. “He had company.” Reza smirked, but Lieu shook his head. “No, not that kind. Some man, around thirty, rich looking.” 

“Wasn't Sato, was it?” 

“How would I know?” He eyed the papers Reza was going over. “You making a purchase?”

“Someone's trying to sell us one of their kids. Zolt says he owes us three-hundred yuan, so he's offering us his son in exchange.” Kid was fifteen, good looking enough, from what the father said, but really, what did Reza know about this kind of thing? “I have no idea if he's even worth three-hundred.” He frowned. “I can't believe I just said that.” 

Lieu raised an eyebrow. “ _I_ can't believe you just said that. Why don't you just ask the house manager? Don't they have those?”

“Yeah, but she says her job is to run the house, like, groceries, hiring servants. She wasn't involved in any of this. She said she barely saw the guy who used to run it, just knew when a new kid showed up.” He sighed, and took a deep drag, trying to keep himself under control. “I really don't know what I'm doing.” 

“So why don't you ask someone who does?” Trust Lieu to offer the obvious solution. The man was as direct as a bull. 

Someone knocked at the door, and it slid open to reveal Hwan, his long braid pooled on the floor from where he was kneeling, with his head bowed. He stood, without waiting for formal admittance, and brought in a tray with a teapot and new cups. When he took the old one, Reza could almost see his nose turn up. 

“Are you two using this as an ashtray?” He asked, glaring at the both of them. “Do you know how much these cups cost?” 

They exchanged a look, then shook their heads in unison. If he had been any less well-bred, he was sure the man would have slammed the teapot down on its wooden platform. Their new cups definitely made a noise when they touched the table, he noted, and Hwan was capable of moving through a room like a ghost if he wanted. Definitely annoyed with them, but then, Hwan seemed to have an endless amount of annoyance and disdain for all of them.

“Hey,” Lieu asked, looking at him with a considering expression. “How much should a fifteen year old boy cost the house?” 

Hwan poured them tea, the motions so practiced he made them look as easy as breathing. When Reza thought of how hard it was for him to even hold a teapot nowadays, he could appreciate small gestures like that. “That depends. Is he already trained, or is he new?”

“Someone's selling their kid off for a debt.” Lieu explained.

The man tipped his head to the side in a half-shrug. “Well, then it comes down to whether he's a virgin or not, how attractive he is, whether he has any talents, like music.” Giving in to Hwan's obviously superior knowledge, Reza pushed the papers across to him, and Hwan inspected them, with the same amount of concentration he gave to the tea. “Hm. He plays two instruments reasonably well, he's literate. I would have to see him. If he's at least moderately attractive, I'd say five-hundred. If he's not, then he could have a job as a performer, but not an entertainer. He'd be worth about three-hundred, then.” 

“Is that what you call yourself?” Lieu asked, taking a jab. “An entertainer?”

Hwan didn't react at all, just kept speaking in that same polished, bored tone. “And what do you call yourselves?” He looked up at Lieu from under the wisps of hair that had artfully escaped his braid. “Businessmen?” There was a mocking twist to the word that made Reza smile in appreciation, Lieu openly snickering.

“At least our business doesn't involve spreading our legs for every bastard with enough yuan.” Lieu was in fine form today. 

The man gave him a haughty look. “And what is it you do again? Break kneecaps?” 

Reza snorted, causing him to inhale too much, and he coughed, earning him a curious glance from Hwan. “Enough,” He said, not in the mood for it to go further. “You know how all this works, then?” He pushed all the paperwork over, and Hwan settled himself more comfortably, as he went over it. 

“I do, actually. Why? Don't you?” 

“Not even a little.” He admitted. “I wouldn't mind some help.” 

Hwan smiled, in that sly way of his that made his face almost fox-like. “Alright.” He said. “But only because I like this house.” He stood, taking the tray with him. “We're unlikely to be full tonight. It's too close to payday. I'll come by the office.” He bent his knees, gracefully, but then, everything he did was graceful, just enough that he could touch the table, tap the purchase papers. “See if you can have him brought in, so I can get a look at him.”

Reza nodded, and Hwan left. 

Lieu was looking at him, by the time he'd torn his eye away from the man. “Don't.” He said, and that was it. Reza chose not to respond, because Lieu could go fuck himself. 

“What's your schedule like this week?” He asked, changing the subject. 

The fighter huffed, and stretched, cracking his back audibly. “He wants me to go up against that guy with the back tattoo of a bird, Sea Raven. Says people are vying for it. It would be a real, twelve round match, not this amateur hour shit down on the docks.” Lieu was itching for it, he could see, despite his nonchalance. “He's got all the rounds worked out for me.”

“What are you going to do if you have to go up against someone with some training?” Reza asked, tapping his cigarette against his tea cup again. He didn't want anymore anyway. For the life of him, he hadn't been able to locate a single ashtray in the whole damn house. 

The other man just smiled. “Let me know when you find one. Besides, I got my own personal healer.” His voice was a little too fond when he said it, so Reza didn't ask, because he didn't want to know. Anyone insane enough to get involved with Lieu probably wasn't someone he liked anyway. “So, what did you want, beyond the joy of my company?”

“Jin needs a lesson.” Reza would do it himself, if he had the time. But it was better for Lieu to do it anyway, since he was supposed to represent the brunt of the organization now. And, while he hated to admit it, the loss of his eye had impacted his own fighting abilities. Just getting through daily tasks had been difficult for the first few months, five years ago, his depth perception gone, to add on to the pain of his damaged skin. He was getting better, but even he had to acknowledge he would never be as intimidating as he had once been. 

“Love tap kind of lesson, or broken bone kind of lesson?” Lieu was tapping his cigarette on the table, and Reza was sure to catch flack for that. “He's got some preferences, Jin.” He lingered on the word. 

Reza shook his head, annoyed. “He's a sick fuck, is what he is.” 

“I'll take care of him.” 

That settled, they went back to talking about whether or not they were going to get a hold of Sato's technology with Sato's cooperation, and if not, what they could do to get it. He'd been married, recently, and Zolt had made no secret of them maybe using the new Mrs. Sato to persuade the tycoon over to their way of thinking. 

Reza didn't care, one way or the other. As long as they got the weapons.

That night, Hwan sauntered into his office, playing with the end of his braid like he always did. It was a strangely endearing habit, and not one Reza needed to be paying too much attention to. Too late, of course, for that kind of foresight. It hung down his back to rest right at his waist, if he was kneeling, but when he inclined his head, it touched the floor. 

He chewed on it, when he was caught up in reading, Reza noticed, as they went over the papers. It was obviously an unconscious gesture left over from childhood, and probably not something he'd like being called out on, but like the way he twirled it, it was endearing. 

“You were overcharged,” He pointed out, handing Reza a receipt from a tailor. “They're trying to raise the prices, what with you being new. They charged twenty extra, just for fixing the hem. I'd suggest you go have a talk with them about that.” He pulled out another, this one from the dealer they got their alcohol from. “We received five crates this week, not four. Correct them, and send them the money. It's important we keep a good relationship with our suppliers, especially the brewery.”

“Do you know everything that goes on in this house?” Reza asked, a little impressed. He'd known Hwan was intelligent, but not to what extent. 

“Probably.” He answered, biting his lip as he narrowed his eyes at something. “This man's penmanship is terrible.” He muttered, offhand. “These are just things you learn, when you live in a house for so long. And I don't sleep much, so I end up helping around the place during the day.” 

Reza was listening, as he got a cigarette out, but before he could light it, Hwan licked his index and thumb, and pinched out the small flame on the end of Reza's finger with them. “Don't even think about it, not if I'm sitting in here with you. And you shouldn't be doing that in here anyway.” 

“Excuse me?” He asked, confused. 

“Do you have any idea how much those are?” He asked, nodding at the painted scrolls on the wall. “Or how much the texts are? Or how much my clothing costs?” 

He thought about it. “No?”

“That smoke _stains_.” He said, in a very precise way, as though he was speaking to a child. “It will ruin everything in here, and the silk in my clothing, you idiot. So unless you can afford to replace it, which I doubt, do not do that around me, or anyone else in this house.” 

Reza was honestly a little too thrown back to respond, at first, as Hwan glared at him. 

He had green eyes, but they were a dark green, and they looked almost black in the low light of his office, especially narrowed like they were now, his eyelashes surprisingly dark, considering how light his hair was. Maybe he used that black stuff on them, like some of the other workers. 

These were not things he needed to be thinking. 

“Fine,” He agreed, putting it away. “Is that why I can't find an ashtray?” 

Hwan relaxed again, and even smiled, though more in a way that suggested Reza amused him. “They're in the kitchen, in a clearly labeled cabinet. We bring them out when clients insist on smoking inside, like our dear boss.” He hadn't thought to look in there, but now that he thought about it, that was kind of where everything was. 

“Of course they are.” He said, choosing to laugh at himself, a little. “Is that where the lighters are hiding too?”

“You're a _firebender_ ,” He scoffed. “What kind of firebender needs a lighter?” He was laughing at Reza, but it wasn't mean. Hwan had a sharp tongue, when he wasn't trying to please, but there was rarely true cruelty in his words, Reza had found. Actually hearing him use that sharpness was just as rare though. That snap at Lieu earlier had been an example of just how quick he could be when he felt like it, though. “But yes, that is where they are. Also in a clearly labeled cabinet.” 

Hwan went back to the paperwork, his braid twirling between his fingers, like a cat flicking its tail. 

_Don't_ , he warned himself, as his eye watched him, out of the corner. _Don't_. 

“You aren't very good at subtlety.” Hwan said, without looking up. “If you're going to stare at me, stare at me. That whole 'I'm not doing that' thing,” He waved his hand dismissively. “That's creepy. I don't like it.” 

Reza thought about denying it, but Hwan was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing, he wasn't sure it would do any good. “You're used to it, aren't you?” 

He shrugged. “It doesn't bother me anymore, if that's what you mean. It's part of my job, to be looked at, in any case. Though I admit, I'm not exactly at my best, right now.” Reza could argue with that. “Besides, after eleven years, I should be used to it.” He did the math quickly. Hwan's age had been listed on his paperwork, Reza knew he was twenty-four, so that meant...

“You were thirteen.” He wasn't sure he kept the disgust out of his voice. 

“Standard age.” Hwan seemed horribly nonchalant about it. “My sister was fourteen, she was sold at the same time. Our father made enough to pay his debts back, with the both of us. Hye is very beautiful, so she was worth quite a bit.” He sighed. “She's still in Omashu, of course. I haven't seen her in a year, or so.” 

“What kind of parent sells their own children?” 

Now the man laughed, leaning forward. “Reza, all of us were sold. You really are new to this business, aren't you?” His braid was pooled on the table. “Stop looking at me like that.” He actually put a finger under Reza's chin, closing his open mouth. “Like my life is some tragedy. I guarantee you my childhood was happier than yours. And I don't mind my job, for the most part, except when people like Jin show up. It's better than if he had sold us as laborers.” 

Reza couldn't detect any falseness in what he was saying, nor could he see any disgust, despite the fact Hwan's fingers had grazed the burns. He'd kissed Reza too, last night, without the slightest falter. It was the first kiss he'd received since the accident, and maybe he'd let himself think about it one too many times. 

“Jin's been taken care of.” He said, because that was all he could say. 

“In your usual heavy-handed way, I assume.” He replied, sitting back, looking down at the papers again. 

“And your way was working so well.” Reza snapped. He'd thought he was doing Hwan a favor, but the man was acting like Reza had inconvenienced him.

“Are you aware of how it looks when you favor one of us?”

He frowned, feeling the scars pull at the eye patch. “What?”

“It makes it look like you're considering making one of us your moll. And that means we don't get clients, because, in case you haven't noticed, you're a little terrifying. No one wants to look like you, dearest.” He frowned. “Sorry, habit. _Reza_.” 

He really hated the idea of Hwan speaking to him like he spoke to his clients. At the same time though, his name in Hwan's voice was dangerous. “Sorry for caring.” 

“You're forgiven.” He said, airily, but when Reza glared at him, he was smiling impishly, twirling his braid, and Reza had nothing to say to that face.


	8. Setting fire to our insides for fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amon confesses more of himself to his fighter, and gets a little back. Under the healing moon, he becomes a recognized healer, beloved of his spirits, and receives even more.
> 
> He also discusses his thoughts about the status of people like Hwan in Republic City, and gains insight through Hwan's pragmatic outlook on life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N This chapter contains sex, again. As a warning, I say this.
> 
> The vow the healers use is taken from the Geneva Code, with a few words changed. Other references are used for different things.

The apartment was dim, only one of his fighter's lanterns lit in the apartment, the radio turned down low, just high enough that Amon could make out the music. He was more interested in the rise and fall of his fighter's chest anyway, the steady beat of his heart, against the inside of his forearm. 

Already, the trouble it would take to open his eyes was more than he was willing to go through, the buzz of the alcohol his fighter had all but dared him to drink turning the edges of his mind soft, blurred. The cradle of his fighter's shoulder held him well enough, the hand idly stroking his back like an anchor in his detached state. 

He could imagine this bed like the hull of a ship, the ones he had spent so much time in during his childhood, small, but safe. With his eyes closed, he could picture the stars overhead, constellations he hadn't seen in years now, all surrounding the Moon, her gentle eyes on him. 

How many times had he prayed to her, in those boats, on the tundra, in his bed? Prayed for her to save him from his life, from his seemingly unending misery? _She was kind,_ his mother always said, his mother, who had known her, so long ago, when she was still just a sixteen-year-old girl, just a princess. _She was kind, and she was gentle,_ she said, with that sadness in her voice. 

So he had prayed to her, over and over, _save me_ , because he had no one else to turn to but her, no one else at all. The burden of his father's revenge, the even heavier one of Tarrlok's love and trust, had been more than he could bear, in those final months. He'd been in danger of being crushed, had every day felt it, felt how soon it would be, but what he could do, he'd thought. What could he do, as he stood on the cliff side, watching the waves crash against the side? What, he'd wondered, with increasing desperation, as every day, the ocean looked more and more inviting? 

Prayers, more than he'd ever said in his whole life combined until then, to her, to her shining face. _Save me, please, I'm not strong enough_.

Until she showed him, on that last trip, that he was. That his father was the weak one, his mind broken without his connection, that Tarrlok too was weak, unable to see the truth. She had shown him that he was strong enough to walk away, into the tundra, into the storm. And when he was lying there, behind a rock, desperate for shelter, exhausted, even his bending not enough to keep the snow away, he swore he heard her whisper, _I will protect you_. 

The next morning, the storm had cleared, and it was only the long night overhead, with stars burning, and her face looking down on him. He had reached another village that evening, and had been on a ship bound for the Earth Kingdom by the end of the week. 

He was sure that the voice had been brought on by lack of food and sleep, on top of the cold. But now, he wondered. Top of his class. He'd known he was talented, had not ever shied away from that with false modesty. Even in the depths of his unhappiness, he'd never denied that he was blessed. Now, faced with evidence of just how blessed, he wondered about that voice. Had she truly protected him, out on the tundra? Had that really been her voice, making him that promise?

He burrowed further under the covers, the cold of the room somewhat uncomfortable, but his fighter was warm against him. “Do you pray?”

“No.” He answered, inhaling deeply in an almost-yawn. “Why, do you?”

“I used to pray to Yue, every day.” Amon felt safe confessing this, to his fighter. “My mother knew her, when she was very young, and she lived in the capital. Before she ascended.” 

His fighter made an interested noise. “What was she like? I bet she was just some spoiled brat.” 

“No.” Amon contradicted. “My mother said she was nice. She wasn't a bender, you know, but Tui still saved her life. And she chose to die, so that Tui could live, and our people could survive.” The story never failed to cause an odd thrill in his chest, at that kind of devotion, that kind of courage. “I think she must have loved us, very much, to do something like that. So I would pray to her, all the time.” 

“What were you praying for?”

He turned his face into his fighter's skin, the man apparently choosing to sleep shirtless, even in the cold. “I prayed she would save me. Every day. My mother said she was so kind, and I thought, anyone who loved the Water Tribe enough to die for them without a fight, she must love me, at least a little, enough to save me.” 

Now his fighter seemed very interested, but Amon kept his eyes closed. “What did you need saving from?” 

Amon couldn't bring himself to say it, just yet. “Do your parents love you?”

“Yes.” The hand on Amon's back pulled him in closer. “Do yours?”

“My father loved what I was.” This was a truth it had taken him far too long for him to acknowledge. “My mother loved my father more than she loved her children.” Also a hard truth, and just as hard to say. “My brother was the only one who really loved me.” And what had he done with that love? Betrayed it, destroyed it. “I was in the tundra for four days. I couldn't see the stars, or her, for the storm. I thought I was going to die.” Huddled against that rock, he had believed that, for those moments, that this would be the end. 

His fighter moved from underneath him, catching his head, laying it down on the pillow as he curled around Amon protectively. “Did you want to?” 

“Yes.” It hurt to say, hurt to tell anyone the whole truth, that he had wanted nothing more than to curl up in the snow and go to sleep. Let La have him, take back his blessing. 

His fighter said nothing, but he pulled Amon even closer, let him hide there, against his body, in his bed. 

“Yue saved me.” In this moment, he was sure it was true, that Yue had cleared the storm, that she had guided him to that village, and onto that ship, all the way here, into Kanna's care. “She answered my prayer.” 

Lieu did not mock him, did not even try to make light of it like everyone else would have. This was what it had been, that night, when his fighter had met his eyes, when he had let him push him down on the bed without ever knowing his name. Yue had been trying to show him that he could trust Lieu, that this man would understand, when no one else would have. 

“I think she brought me to you.” Now he opened his eyes, looked up at his fighter, afraid that he had said too much. 

But his fighter was looking at him, considering him, as his hand left Amon's back, to run his fingers down his side tail. “Maybe she did.” He said, without a trace of humor in his eyes. “I told you, I saw you, standing there, and I just...” He cupped Amon's face, and he started, too overwhelmed by all of it. “I wanted you. Didn't have anything to do with you being a bender, or a healer. Just...I did.” 

Amon kissed him, scared still, he thought, from the way his heart thudded in his chest. His fighter pushed him back, moved over him, supporting himself on his elbows, as Amon wrapped his arms around him, his hands sliding up the man's spine. 

Before, when his fighter had pinned him down, he had been anxious, frightened about being out of control. Now though, now the weight was right, because he needed him. 

Kissing him was so easy, he thought, but it wasn't enough. He let go of Lieu to undo the knot on his robe, the backs of his hands brushing his fighter's stomach as he did so. “Not good enough,” His fighter said, lifting himself up further. “All of it.”

“I'll be cold,” Amon protested, but now his fighter smiled. 

“Nah,” Lieu dismissed. “I'm here.” 

His body was warm on top of Amon, even completely naked, and by now, there was nothing to blame on the alcohol. It was just him, following Lieu's guidance, as he coated two fingers fingers in oil, and crooked them up inside Amon. He squirmed, his fingers digging into Lieu's hair. It stung, like it had before, but it still felt good, still made his breath catch as he clung to him. “Breathe,” He whispered, against Amon's ear. “You're too tight.” 

“I thought that was the point.” He was a little breathless, as his fighter moved his fingers. 

“It'll hurt.” His fighter kissed his sternum, then down his stomach, his mustache tickling the sensitive skin over his navel, before he was down by Amon's groin. “You have to relax. Trust me.” He closed his mouth over the head of Amon's cock, right as he pushed his fingers against the edge of that part inside. 

Amon made a noise, his fingers kneading into Lieu's scalp as he gripped the pillow with his other hand. “More,” was the command, as he pushed on Lieu's head. There was vibration around his cock, as his fighter laughed, but obeyed, taking more in, as his free hand wrapped around the base. 

His fighter pushed him to the edge, until his back was arching off the bed, his breath coming hard. That was when he pulled off, making Amon whine, but he just kissed Amon's hip, as he sat back up. Desperate, still teetering right on the edge of release, he moved his hips up, seeking contact, anything to help himself finish. “Calm down.” He chuckled, and then he was pushing in, right as Amon sighed his name, urging him on. 

The sting was gone, or perhaps covered up by his own arousal, as Lieu moved his legs to a more comfortable position, one hooked around his elbow, the other high up on his waist. He held still though, inside Amon, his expression oddly soft, in the lamplight. “Lieu,” he insisted. “Move, please.” It was unbearable, the feel of him inside, poised over Amon like he was. It was too much, _he_ was too much. 

“Give me a minute,” Lieu replied, instead, but Amon shook his head in protest, moving his hips again, jostling him. “Are you ever not bossy?”

“No.” He admitted, a smile he couldn't explain on his face, as he shook his head. “I'm told it's a fault.”

His fighter smiled, and leaned down, stretching Amon's legs a little further than he was comfortable with, but not enough to hurt. “I kind of like it.” 

Then he moved, pulling out of Amon, inducing a full-body tremor that his fighter soothed with a palm down his side, as he pushed back in. It was almost instinctive, as he moved with him, almost desperate to keep him inside every time he left, but just as desperate for the feeling that came with every push. 

_Push and pull_ , he thought, as one hand gripped the back of Lieu's neck, the leg around his waist tightening with every thrust. He had applied the balance to every aspect of his life, but it was only now, as his fighter robbed him of breath and sense, that he realized how it represented sex as well as everything else. Tui and La were lovers, he reminded himself. Hadn't La threatened to destroy the world, if that world didn't contain Tui as well? 

The balance was everything.

Lieu was pushing in harder, his breathing loud with effort, as he braced one hand on the headboard above Amon's head, and spirits, it felt good, so good, enough that he felt Lieu's skin give under his short nails. Amon tried to give as much back as Lieu was giving, doing what felt right, but when his fighter pushed in hard and lingered, his body gave in, and he came. 

His fighter barely managed a few more shallow movements, before Amon felt the stiffening in his spine, heard the way he groaned. The man stayed inside of him, for a minute longer, before he pulled out with a hiss, collapsing beside Amon. 

Amon summoned water, out of his flask, lying on the table, and cleaned the both of them off, himself more than Lieu, as he took away the stickiness between his legs. It had been easier in the bath, but being able to curl up in the bed in the immediate aftermath was also nice. 

His fighter was smiling at him, as he ran his palm down Amon's side, quelling the strange tremors running through him. “What?” Amon asked, as his stomach twisted, though not in a bad way. 

“What were you thinking about?” He asked, as he started to play with Amon's hair, Amon content enough to let him, for the time being. “You get this look in your eyes, when you're thinking.”

“Waterbending philosophy.” He said, dryly, despite how badly he wanted to just wrap himself around his fighter and smile. “Push and pull.”

His fighter laughed, turning away to turn the lantern off, surrounding them in darkness. “You're really out of my league, aren't you?” He said, sounding fond, as he laid back down beside Amon, pulling the covers over them. 

Amon pressed himself against the man's back, safe between him and the wall, and smiled. “I like you, anyway.” 

“And we only had to fuck a few times for you to admit it.” His fighter drawled. 

Amon scowled, and poked him in the ribs, before he burrowed down into the pillows and quilts, warm and safe. Like Yue, all that time ago, his fighter had driven away the storm, leaving him with nothing but the comfort of the stars overhead.

-

There was a small room, in the common areas, behind the library. It had a plain tile floor, and plain walls, the clinic not able to afford anything ornate. There was, however, a decent sized stone pool, set into the ground, the lip just barely raised, in the center, with a pile of stones in the center. The water bubbled up through the center of them, to spill back over the rocks, into the pool. There were no carvings along the room, no mosaic within. A small cutaway had been put in the roof, to allow the moonlight to shine down on to it, the glass without design, no pretty ironwork along the edges.

But there were prayer rugs, arranged around it, and it was one of these that Amon knelt on, bowing all the way, so his forehead brushed the floor. He stayed like that, for a few minutes, until his elbows hurt from the weight on them, and then he sat up, held still inclined. 

“It was you, wasn't it? I wasn't imagining it.” That gentle voice in his ear, washing over him, getting him through that last hour of the storm. “You saved me.” He bit his lip. “Why? What was so special about me?” 

There was no answer, not from her, not from anyone. The water trickled over the rocks, the same way it had before. “Is there something you want from me?” Still, there was only the water for answer. “I got away from him. I haven't hurt anyone. I haven't used it. I became a healer.” Desperate, he touched his head to the floor again. “What else can I do?” 

Her silence was the only answer, no matter how long he knelt there. 

-

His new robes were blue, unlike the whites he'd worn as an apprentice. They were nice, he thought absently, in his light-headed state. Beside him, kneeling as well, Penna was pale with fright and nerves. Pasook, on her other side, looked a little green again. 

“Apprentices,” Kanna said, from the front of the room. “You who kneel before me, will be apprentices no longer, after tonight.” 

Overhead, the full moon looked down upon them, Yue's smiling face. It was cold, bitterly so, on the shores of the Bay, even through the woven mats they knelt on, but Amon liked it. It gave him grounding, as he licked his lips. They would chap, if he kept doing it, he reminded himself.

“I have watched over all of you, even when you thought you escaped my notice. For those of you, who kneel before me, before our spirits, still doubting yourselves, know that if I did not believe you were worthy of the power I bestow upon you tonight, you would not be here.” 

Penna took in a shuddering breath, but did not relax at all. Tentatively, unsure if he was helping at all, he took his hand off his own knee, and placed it over one of hers, her knuckles white from they gripped her new robe. He meant only to comfort her, but before he could reclaim his hand, she had gripped it hard enough it hurt. 

He chose to continue to be kind, and let her hold it. It had nothing to do with his own nerves. At all. 

Kanna raised her arms in supplication to Yue, and began. 

“Repeat after me, apprentices,” Kanna said. “I solemnly vow to consecrate my life to the service of humanity,” 

The words tangled around his tongue, but he managed them, as he turned his eyes up towards the moon, towards her. 

“I will give to my teachers the respect and gratitude which is their due,” Amon recited it, keeping his eyes on Yue. He owed her more gratitude than the rest of them, didn't he? But how could he repay it? “I will practice my healing with conscience and integrity.” Penna's fingers gripped his even harder, if possible. “The health and life of my patient will be my first consideration.”

The ocean crashed hard against the sands, and his heart stuttered to almost a stop, as the sound broke past his anxiety. _La_ , he thought, with a laugh. La, who had risen like a typhoon in his grief, but who flowed around him like a friend. La was telling him to breathe, to remember why he was here.

“I will respect the secrets which are confided in me,” Kanna continued, and they repeated. “I will, by all means in my power, honor the blessing of Tui and La bestowed upon me. I will not ever disgrace them by using their gift irresponsibly.” Amon would have cringed, had he not had his eyes on Yue, had the ocean not been crashing, the salt strong in the air, in the familiar cold.

“My fellow healers will be my brothers and sisters, from this day forward,” Penna's grip loosened, and he turned to her, to see her smiling at him, before she turned to do the same at Pasook, the boy grinning unashamedly, despite the dampness in his eyes. “I will never turn away one in need, regardless of nation or status.” 

That line was new, he knew. Katara herself had added it, some odd years ago.

“I will retain the utmost respect for human life, even under threat. I will not use this blessing contrary to that respect.”

 _You are forgiven, Amon,_ he heard, that same sweet voice he had heard two years ago. _Your transgressions against us are forgotten._

Afraid, and humbled, he closed his eyes, his own hand tightening in Penna's now.

The next words came out of all of them without prompting, Kanna's voice raised with them, the healers who stood with her as well, hands joined under Yue's eyes, the breath of Tui and La around them, in them. 

“I make these promises solemnly, freely, and upon my honor.” 

Penna was hugging him before he quite knew what she was up to, but more surprising was how his own arms came around her in return. 

“Aww,” Pasook sniffed. “Guys.” And then he had wrapped his lankier form around the both of them, the fur of his parka tickling Amon's face, as Penna vibrated in laughter between them. “I love you, too, even you Amon, even though you're kind of grouchy and mean.”

“ _Pasook_ ,” Penna groaned in exasperation, elbowing him. 

“It's fine,” Amon said, shaking his head. His face felt cold.

Penna peered at him, then rubbed her thumbs on his cheeks. “Oh, Amon, you're crying.” She was too, and so was Pasook, and most of the other newly minted healers around them. To Amon's shock, it wasn't the only hug he received, many of his fellow healers apparently taking the part about them being family to heart, at least for now, with the emotions running high. 

The older healers were milling through them, carrying bowls with paint, and as they passed through, they placed the Mark of the Wise, the mark bestowed to healers, on the foreheads of the new ones. Penna was still crying when she received hers, and Pasook was no better, though he was laughing too. 

It was Kanna who stopped in front of him, and he respectfully inclined his head to her. On his head though, she made the sign, but then dipped her finger in the bowl again. With a gentle swipe of her thumb, she added another one. Amon didn't understand, but around him, the other graduates were staring. 

“You especially, I have been watching, Amon. You not only receive the Mark of the Wise, but the Mark of the Trusted.” Her voice was raised enough that those around them could hear as well. “You show a depth of power and understanding that is rare. Truly, you are blessed by Tui and La,” Kanna looked up, at the moon. “I believe you are meant to do great things in this world.” With a gentle touch too reminiscent of his mother for his own comfort, she ran a gentle over his face. “Quite a long way to come, for a young man silly enough to believe he couldn't even be a healer.” 

Her expression was mock-disapproving, and he found himself smiling at her. “You were very good at knocking sense into me.” He replied. “Literally.” She embraced him, then, and he returned the gesture. “Thank you, for everything.”

“You're welcome.” She smiled at him again, as she stepped back, then released him, so Penna could poke at him teasingly, and Pasook could call him a teacher's pet. 

Back at the dorms, there was food laid out in celebration, the non-healers who were still waiting to take their exams congratulating the lot of them as they returned. Amon found Yasu sniffing a seaweed cookie with deep skepticism, before he took a cautionary bite. 

He spotted Amon just as he was gagging, the pastry burning up in his hand. “Okay, man, you people need to find something other than seaweed to eat in the Poles.” 

Amon shook his head. “Try the sea crabs. You'll like them better, I think.”

Yasu shrugged, then smiled, almost sheepishly. “Hey, um, just kind of trying to feel this out, but, uh, you seeing anyone?” 

He frowned, confused. “You, right now.”

“Huh?” Yasu looked confused too. “No, I mean, are you, you know, free?” 

An arm threw itself around his shoulders, and Pasook was there, making a face. “What are you two talking about?”

Yasu turned red. “I was just asking Amon is he wanted to maybe...you know...do an activity, or...you know...something.” 

Pasook nodded sternly, though his eyes twinkled. “Right, well, I'm sure he would. He just has to check with his boyfriend.” Yasu's shoulders slumped in defeat, as Amon _finally_ understood what was happening. 

“Can't blame a guy for trying.” He said, shrugging, apparently already over it. 

“Of course,” Pasook drawled. “I wouldn't be opposed to doing an activity sometime. With you.” Surprised, Amon stared at him, as Yasu grinned. 

“Why not?” He agreed, amiably enough. “I'll talk to you tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah.” Yasu left them to talk to another group of graduates, who greeted him with enthusiasm. He was popular, Amon noticed, well-liked by everyone, including Pasook, apparently. 

“I thought you said Water Tribe kept pure?” He asked, almost incredulous, as soon as Yasu was out of earshot. Pasook made a face, as he squeezed Amon's shoulders.

“Buddy, how many times do I have to tell you?” He asked. “Don't listen to anything I say. I'm an idiot. Everyone knows that.” He grinned. “And Yasu's cool.”

“You just like how he looks without a shirt.” Penna interjected, appearing on Amon's other side. “Which, I admit, is a very nice sight.” 

Amon looked between them. “You,” he pointed at Penna. “Are shallow. And you,” he pointed at Pasook. “Are an idiot.” 

“Aw, did you already forget?” Penna cooed. “'My fellow healers will be my brothers and sisters, from this day forward'.” She grinned at him, as he recalled the exact words he had just vowed to the spirits. “We're all family now. You're stuck with us.” She spied something on the table. “Hey, fire flakes!” 

Pasook and Amon exchanged an equally disgusted look. 

“Hey,” The other man nudged him. “Mark of the Wise, _and_ Mark of the Trusted. You know how big a deal that is, right?” Amon nodded. “I think Kanna's thinking about having you promoted to the board, after a few years. You'd be part of the decision making for the whole clinic.”

Amon wasn't sure what he thought of that. The board was comprised of the most experienced healers in the clinic, and they were all older, as befitting the appointment. He was too young by twenty years at least. 

He looked around, at the other graduates. There were no more than forty, an average size. Too few waterbenders cared to take on such a thankless job, especially here, at a free clinic. There was no prestige to be had here, no way to gain accolades or titles. The volunteers for apprenticing as a medic were even fewer. Jobs at the factories paid better, and were more impressive.

Not only that, he had seen how the groups shrunk as the years went on. Healers left for private hospitals, or to be house physicians. Appointments that paid better, and provided better hours. 

The room grew hot, after awhile, too hot for his comfort, right now, so he slipped out at first chance, wiping away the marks from his forehead as he did so. He almost wanted to go to the library, but he knew he would be found there rather quickly, by well-meaning friends. 

He made his way down the hall, towards the actual clinic, where the older healers, graduates from years past, were handling patients. 

That reminded him quickly that he had meant to go check on Hwan's friend. He had forgotten in the busy days. 

So he grabbed a kit, and his parka out of his room, feeling useful again. The moon was low in the sky now, grey starting to build at the horizon, and he watched her. She was beautiful, he thought, as he felt her pull on him. His mother had said she was beautiful, when she was a girl, with hair as white as snow. 

She had forgiven him, tonight. He was sure of it. The spirits had looked upon him and found him worthwhile again. This was not something to take lightly, he thought. Forgiveness was not easily earned, but transgressions were easily made, as he well knew. And that awfulness, that poison, it was still living inside of him. He could so easily mess up. 

Not for the first time, the thought of his fighter's mother rose to the forefront of his mind. How long could he keep his secret? How long did he have to? Maybe, when Lieu loved him, he could tell him the truth, tell him the name he had once had. When he loved Amon, he was sure to not care who he had been. 

A voice in the back of his mind told him that it would never be that easy. His fighter seemed like the type who held on to things. 

So didn't that mean he would hold on to his love, too?

He was so confused. 

He stopped and bought coffee, to get the weariness out of his bones. He had slept during the day previous, in preparation for the night, but a few hours of kneeling on a half frozen beach had been taxing. 

The doorman from before was just setting up, when Amon arrived, his hair still loose. “Healer,” he greeted, taking his seat. “Here to check on Taruk?” 

Amon nodded. “I wanted to speak to Hwan as well.” He wanted to make sure Hwan was still in one piece, more than anything. That nagging worry had been on his mind ever since he'd come into the clinic with his ribs smashed. 

“If it helps, Jin hasn't touched any of them.” The way he said it implied Amon didn't need to know any more detail. “Hwan should be kicking his company out by now.” 

There was no emotion in that sentence, as Reza opened his newspaper. That was more telling than anything. Even Amon wasn't that oblivious to other people's emotions. 

It was none of his business though, he decided, and went inside to the foyer. Honestly, he didn't want it to be his business either. Hwan had said that his house was owned by that Triad, and he had more than a sneaking suspicion that Reza belonged to it. 

He went to Taruk's room first, knocking quietly. Thankfully, the man was alone in his room, and he smiled gratefully when he saw it was Amon. “I still have some pain.” He confessed, as he let Amon in. 

Unlike Hwan's room, decorated in greens and golds, Taruk's was blues, greys and white, with furs everywhere. He wondered if that was for Taruk, or the clients, if they asked for specific nationalities. 

Taruk looked very young, in the morning light. As he disrobed at Amon's bidding, stretching out on his bed with a wince. Amon had thought he was still small, but compared to Taruk, he certainly wasn't. The boy was skinny, and when Amon ran his hands over his chest, he felt the bulges of his ribs, with a minimal amount of pressure. 

“You're from the North, aren't you?” He asked. Unlike Amon, he had bright blue eyes, made even brighter by his thick black lashes. Now that he looked at him, he didn't really remind Amon too much of Hwan. Taruk was soft, in his eyes, was probably nice. Hwan always looked like he was bordering on the edge of mischief. 

“I am.” He answered. “Are you?”

“Yes. I just got here. My old house sold me, in exchange from a mixed boy, Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom. More exotic, up North, so a good way to bring people in.” He seemed okay with the whole thing, though it left a bad taste in Amon's mouth. 

Still, this boy didn't need a lecture, he reminded himself, as he found the problem. There was still some deep bruising, around his pelvis, that Amon had missed. He ran the water over it, finding the broken and twisted lines. “How do you like it here in the city?”

“Oh, much better,” Taruk nodded enthusiastically, reminding Amon strongly of a puppy. “Being able to go outside is great.”

The water nearly fell out of Amon's hands in shock. “Were you not allowed to, in the North Pole?”

Taruk tipped his head to the side, curious, still putting Amon in mind of the sled dog puppies his neighbor had raised. “You're not from the cities, are you?” Amon shook his head. “Workers aren't allowed to leave the house, in the North Pole. We have a courtyard, that we can use, but we have to stay within the walls.” He smiled, wide and happy. “It's not the same, of course. And I'd never seen a real tree, until I came here. I lived in the Capital.” The Capital was supposed to be very beautiful, from what Amon had heard, a sparkling city of ice and canals. Of course, they had to import any wood they had from the southern edges and islands, like where Amon had grown up. 

“How do you feel about being so far away from your parents?” He wondered if the boy was homesick, but Taruk made a puzzled face. 

“Oh, I haven't seen my parents since I was very small. I was sold to my house when I was...” He trailed off in thought. “I was five when I was sold, but I left my parents' home on my sixth birthday. So I haven't seen them since then.”

Amon was staring. He couldn't think of anything else to do. Taruk sat up, still seeming very puzzled by Amon's reaction, though it was a polite kind. “It's much stricter, in the North. I assumed you knew. We're generally sold very young, and trained from then. I had my first client when I was thirteen. It's to ensure we're pure, so that we get a very high price when we turn thirteen.” 

He was so matter of fact about the whole thing, it made Amon feel even more like being sick. 

Taruk seemed almost awkward, as he waited on the bed for Amon to regain his senses. He pulled his legs up to his chest, and for all the world, he looked like a child. He was only two years younger than Amon. Not allowed to go outside, to be a child, for nine years, of course he was small, of course he was so young seeming. He had never been allowed to grow up. 

“Your hips were bruised.” He managed, after a moment. “That was causing the residual pain. I've healed it, and you shouldn't feel a thing in a few hours.” He schooled his face into a more neutral expression, as he packed his things. “You should sleep, let your body rest.” 

The boy nodded agreeably, and even that sort of bothered Amon. He was too used to being told what to do, and that bothered him. 

Hwan was just entering his room, his tight braid damp and dripping on the floor. “Well, if it isn't my favorite new healer.” His voice was low, probably in consideration of those sleeping. “Have you come to see me?”

“Specifically, I came to see Taruk.” He said, as he followed the gesturing hand into Hwan's room. 

The sheets had been stripped off his bed, a platform affair off to the side. He was holding a new set, and without being asked, Amon took the other edge, helping him remake it. The cotton they were made of slid through Amon's hands like silk, a scalloped pattern along the top, where they folded the top one back. These were expensive, he figured, to denote Hwan's status, or rather, the status of his clients. 

Hwan made a face as he looked up at Amon. “I had to sleep on dirty sheets last night. The client wanted to sleep over, and it's considered rude to tell them you have no desire to lie on their fluids.” 

Amon had yet to really face that problem. Being a waterbender had some small benefits, to go with the great ones, he supposed. 

“So I had a bath and sent them to the laundry first thing. The good news is, I slept last night, which means I am awake enough for you to take me out to breakfast.” He smiled cheerfully, despite the hour, as he went into his wardrobe. His quilt was missing, but Amon supposed it was with the rest of the laundry. “Or, well, I suppose I'll be taking you, because you're a healer, and therefore poor.” 

“How are you so popular?” Amon asked, his tone dry. 

“I can be nice, if there's enough yuan involved.” He grinned. “And not everyone wants me to be nice.” 

Amon decided he didn't want to know. Ever. “Can I ask you something?”

“Uh-oh, that's your serious voice.” Hwan mocked, as he selected something. “Can you please save it until after I've had breakfast?” 

He left no room for argument, as he changed. Unlike the clothes Amon usually saw him in, these were plainer, and only cotton, no silk to be seen. His braid was plain and unadorned as well, a rarity. If Amon didn't know him, he never would have suspected him of his profession. “Come on, I'm starving, and in desperate need of tea. Or perhaps even coffee.” 

He followed Hwan, as the man led him out of the still-dark house. 

Reza was still sitting in the chair, and Hwan paused over him. “I'm going to get breakfast with my friend.” He said, as the man looked up at him. “I'll be back soon.” 

“You're supposed to ask permission.” Reza had the voice of the long-suffering. Amon could relate to that feeling, when it came to Hwan. 

Hwan just kept walking, waving good-bye, as Amon trailed after him, hoping Reza wasn't going to enforce the rule. The man gave no indication of it though, his good eye narrowed after them in annoyance, not anger. 

“Should you antagonize him like that?” Amon asked, as they made their way down the sidewalk, towards the restaurants, the workers on their way to the factories and the docks just clearing out. 

“Who, Reza?” Hwan shrugged one shoulder. “He's an odd one. I think he likes it when I talk back to him. I don't think anyone else does.” He made a face. “Not that you can blame them. He really is terrifying.” He smiled when he saw the restaurant he obviously wanted, a nicer cafe than Amon could ever afford, on the second story. He'd been eating in a lot of nice places lately, he noted, and all on someone else's yuan. It was starting to make him uncomfortable. 

When they were seated, he continued. “The thing about it is though, you get used to them, after a time. They stop being quite so scary.” He was looking out the window as he spoke, a light snow starting. “He's not really scary at all.” His expression was softer than Amon had ever seen it, contemplative. 

The waiter broke him out of it when she asked for their orders. 

“Pot of coffee, pot of black tea, both strong, please, and hot, with milk, and sugar,” Hwan winked at Amon, and he flushed. His love for sweets was not something he felt he should advertise. It seemed odd, especially with him being Water Tribe. “Zongzi, with sweet bean paste, that water chestnut cake you serve, and...” He pursed his lips in thought. “Ha gao, please.” 

The waiter bowed and left.

“Alright, my dear serious healer, what is your serious question?”

“Do you pray?” He asked, the same question he'd asked his fighter. “At all?” Hwan had expressed disdain for Amon's spirits, but maybe he had his own that he was more respectful towards. 

The other man was not quite so automatically dismissive this time. He played with his braid, actually chewing on it for a moment, before he answered. “Sometimes, when I need help, I pray. Not to your spirits, of course. To mine. There are many in the Earth Kingdom. I pick and choose, as I like, depending on whose name I like that day.”

“Do you think they answer us?”

Hwan shrugged. “Sometimes, when it suits them. Why? Do you think the spirits are speaking to you?” He wasn't mocking Amon, surprisingly, as the waiter placed their tea and coffee down, another placing their plate of zongzi and the cake.

“Your ha gao will be right out, sirs.” The server said, before leaving them. 

Amon bended tea into his own cup, not willing to touch the steaming pot, and Hwan grinned. “Be polite now, pour for me. I want coffee, after all.” Amon grimaced, but did as asked. “That is a neat trick.” He took only a little milk, but a lot of sugar, and smiled in exaggerated joy after he took a sip.

“I think Yue has spoken to me.” He said, after a few moments had passed, and they had both gotten some food in their stomachs. 

“Explain that to me,” Hwan urged. “Are Yue and Tui the same, or different?” 

“Yue is Tui, but a different aspect of her. She is both Tui, and herself.” It made sense to him, but apparently not to Hwan, as he gave Amon a blank look. “Never mind. I think she is though. I think she saved me, when I ran away, and I think she spoke to me last night, when I took my vow.”

“Well, maybe she is.” Hwan shrugged. “What do you mean, she saved you? When you were running away?”

Amon realized how much he'd said, and his uncomfortableness must have shown on his face, because Hwan asked no more questions, just went back to his food, smiling when the ha gao appeared. 

He wanted to speak, he realized. He wanted to tell someone, someone he wasn't afraid would turn away from him in disgust. “Do you think it's possible, to inherit evil from your parents?” 

“No.” He said, quite seriously. “No, and you shouldn't either.” He settled on his elbows, holding his coffee between his hands. “You're not a bad person. At least, you aren't anymore.” He looked at Amon, through the steam. “Was it really that bad?”

“I betrayed the person I loved the most.” He replied, putting his own cup down. “Twice. I hurt him, and then I ran away, leaving him to take on my burden. And I did it for someone who never deserved my loyalty in the first place.” 

“Your father must be an awful person.” 

Amon stared at him, gaped really, but Hwan was still calm. “How?”

“Very few people in the world can tear a person up inside, the way our parents can. It was just a lucky guess.” He took a sip. “Who was the person who loved you the most?”

“My little brother.” Tarrlok, lost to him, along with his name.

“I have a little brother. And a little sister. Yun and Sung. And an older sister, Hye.” He didn't bother to hide behind his usual careless facade, when he spoke of them. He was openly sad. “They're all in different houses, of course, and very far away. I miss them, very much. Siblings can be closer to you than anyone in the world.” 

“All your siblings are in brothels?” Amon asked, not really surprised. 

“Yes, though Yun services women, unlike me. He's very popular among the noblewomen of Ba Sing Se.” He grinned a little. “He always was very charming, when we were children.” 

“Hwan, do you ever wonder if things could be better here? More like the Fire Nation?” The man perked up in interest, clearly waiting for Amon to elaborate. “I think if you were allowed unions, you would be able to implement changes for the better.” 

“Well, first, we have to be allowed to unionize.” Hwan pointed out. “Good luck with that. The Triads will never allow it.” 

“But if stricter policies on who was allowed to purchase a license for the brothels, ones that excluded those with organized crime backgrounds, that alone would give you the start.” 

“And you have to get _that_ law passed. Amon, the Triads have too strong a grip on this city. They pay off the Council members, because really, what do they care? Republic City isn't their home, so it's not their problem.” Serious was an odd look on Hwan. It changed his face a great deal, made him less delicate, and more sharp seeming. “The rot extends from the bottom to the top. What we need is someone on the Council who represents us, who loves this city, and wants to see it prosper. And not someone who thinks bending is the solution to all the world's ails.”

There was an idea he hadn't considered. “How could that happen?”

“The Council has to decide on that, and why would they? That takes away their power.” Hwan made a good point. In Amon's experience, people with power wanted to hold on to that power. “We'd need popular support, a whole movement.” He made the idea sound idiotic, like it was laughable, but something in Amon sparked.

A movement for equality. It sounded like something worth looking into. 

“Pour me some more coffee, please.” Hwan asked, and Amon did so, snapping out of his thoughts. “So, want to tell me about the ceremony?” 

Amon told him the details, Hwan listening in amused fascination, chuckling at the part about the symbols being painted on their foreheads. 

When they finished breakfast, Hwan asked for a boxed one as well. Amon raised an eyebrow in question, and when Hwan gave him a cool look of disinterest, an odd thought occurred to him. “Is that for Reza?” 

“He keeps skipping breakfast. He doesn't like the noise.” He sniffed, his tone mocking. 

“What does that have to do with you?”

“Nothing.” He replied. “He needs to eat breakfast though.” 

Amon bended the snow away as they walked back to the tea house, the breakfast in Hwan's hands. “He's a Triad, isn't he?” 

“So what if he is?”

“You know he's dangerous.” 

Hwan glared at him. “So what?” 

Amon looked at him, without saying anything, but Hwan couldn't hold it. He looked ahead of them. “He's not what you think. He's not what I thought he was. I just think he deserves someone being nice to him.” 

“I just don't want his trouble to get you hurt.” 

He scoffed. “It's not like I'm going to fall in love with him.” 

But when they reached the doorway, he handed it to Reza with a smile that Amon had never seen on his face before. “There, happy?”

Reza smiled back, the bad side of his mouth twisting strangely. “Does this have water chestnut cake in it?” 

“Surprise, I actually listen to people when they talk.” He said cheerily. “I'll see you soon, Amon.” He kissed Amon on the cheek.

Reza's eyes were on him now, and Amon knew he wasn't imagining the jealousy that stole across his face, however briefly. Hwan seemed to miss it, and by the time he looked down at Reza, the man was only disapproving. “What have I done now?”

“You shouldn't do that where clients can see. They'll think they can kiss you, too.” Hwan rolled his eyes. 

“Amon's not a client. He's a friend.” He swooped down and kissed Reza on his good side. “Just so you don't feel left out.” He left them both, walking into the house. 

Reza didn't see Amon leave. He was too busy watching the foyer, where Hwan had disappeared.

All the good feelings that had been inside, since he heard Yue's voice, disappeared, to be replaced with fear for his friend. _He's not what you think_ , he'd said. 

Judging from the large dragon that was circling up his bared good arm, so similar to Yasu's phoenix, he was exactly what Amon thought he was.


	9. Interlude: Hwan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see more of who Lieu is, through Hwan's eyes. Everyone has bias. What parts does he hide from Amon, and what does that mean, overall? 
> 
> In other news, Hwan goes about his day, snarks, fusses, and makes a deal with Reza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously debated about this, to the point of bugging Drift. Because no one is in Tiny Chat to be harassed by me and my anxiety. In any case, I really want to show how Lieu behaves around the rest of the Triad, and just what the Triad is doing while Amon is off becoming a revolutionary. 
> 
> Any criticism you have towards this story is more than welcome, you know. If you feel the side characters are getting too much spotlight, if you hate the way I'm portraying characters, if my grammar is pissing you off, (Seriously, my grammar is terrible. I skived off half of my sophomore year of high school.) if you hate my paragraph structure, whatever. Just say something. Anything. You can't hurt my feelings with helpful criticism.

Hwan was bored, after Amon left. 

He changed out of his day clothes, and into loose pants, with his dressing gown over. Even in his own bedroom, it was too cold to go without. He undid the plait he'd had his hair in with quick, experienced fingers, until it hung loose, wavy. 

He lit a candle under a glass dish, and poured some of the perfumed oil he used in it in. Once it had heated to an acceptable temperature, he started combing it through, careful of his fingers as he did so. Nice features they'd been blessed with, but Hwan and his siblings all had coarse hair. If he didn't take care of it like this, it lost its shine, and men loved his hair. 

His father had worn his hair long too, of course. Before the local Triad cut it off as warning, that was. They had threatened his fingers next, and after that, his father had stopped stalling. Hye and him had been sold the next week. 

Once he had finished, his hair hung straight. Like this, free, it was long enough to touch the floor when he knelt.

There was an odd, prickly feeling on the back of his neck. “Like staring,” he called, “lingering at my door is also creepy. Either come in, or go away.” 

The door slid open, and Reza stepped in.

“Shut it behind you.” He reminded him. The hallway was colder than their rooms during the day, and he was cold enough already. “What is it?”

He could feel Reza watching him, and when he looked in the mirror, he confirmed it. The man didn't turn away, just continued to openly watch him. He preferred it that way, honestly, he thought, even if it was Reza. He liked to know people's intentions from the beginning. That said, he still wasn't sure what Reza's intentions were. 

He gathered his hair together first on one side, twisting it, before pinning it against the base of his skull. Then he started on the other side, mirroring the first side. When he finished, he pinned the two pieces together, leaving him with a queue in the back. 

Reza watched, unabashed, until he finished, then held up an envelope. “You have a letter.” 

“From where?” He asked, as he started braiding the gathered hair together, pulling it over his shoulder once it was past the nape of his neck. 

“Ba Sing Se.” He said, as he looked away from Hwan, around his room. “Name says Yun Chae.” The man looked back at Hwan, or he thought he was. He didn't know why Reza kept turning his blind side to Hwan. Maybe it was habit, forgetting he couldn't see anymore. “He related?” 

Hwan nodded at the table. “Put it down there, please. And yes, Yun is my little brother.” Once he finished his braid, he tied it off with a plain green ribbon, and then went seeking an ornament for where it joined at the top. “Do you have any siblings?”

It was one of the many questions he'd found himself asking, over the past few days. No matter what he asked, Reza answered, though sometimes he needed prodding to do so. “Only child.” A lot of his answers were like this. Short, to the point, without elaboration. 

He found a wooden one he liked, the shape a bird, with its wings encircled. He slid the wooden pin through it, securing it in place, then stood, to grab the letter and open it. Reza was still there, though when Hwan came closer, he moved away, towards the dressing table. He'd taken to doing that, making sure he was rarely within arms reach of him. “Do you actually use all of this?” 

“Not all of us are blessed with your hair, not that you deserve it, the way you treat it,” Hwan said, glowering a little at the loose, lazy queue Reza had his thick black hair gathered in. 

His brother had only written a short letter, elaborating on their father's latest trouble. Again, with the local band of roughnecks, not that Hwan expected any better of the old man. Five thousand, this time. Well, he thought, if he could get half that, Hye could get the other half. Sung wouldn't be earning for another month, if he remembered right, and Yun not for another year. “Reza?” The man raised his eyebrow, the good half of his face to Hwan, though he could see the other half in the mirror. “I'll need my earnings for the week within a day or so, if you please.” 

“Why?”

He re-folded the letter and slid it back in the envelope. “I need to make a transfer to Ba Sing Se, and it will take a few days.” He almost expected him to ask. Anyone else would have. Reza just watched him, for a moment, before nodding. “Thank you.” 

Reza nodded in acknowledgment, but before he could walk out, Hwan touched his elbow, stopping him. It was his blind side, unfortunately, so it startled him more than he had meant to, made him jump. When he was steady again, he turned to Hwan, the undamaged side getting a good look at him, like he was reassuring himself of who Hwan was. “What?”

“Sit.” He commanded, pushing on his shoulder. “Let me fix your hair.” It was going to drive Hwan crazy, if he kept walking around like that.

He made a face, but followed direction, sitting down cross-legged, instead of kneeling, like most men from the Fire Nation. Reza didn't do anything like a Fire Nation man though, really. He still carried certain quirks, little ways of doing things that were mindless, but enough to tell Hwan he hadn't been in Republic City as long as he wanted people to believe. His changed behaviors were most certainly deliberate, and meant to give a certain impression. 

His hair was his biggest act of defiance, or rather, as far as he was willing to go. He still hadn't cut it, like some men did, still wore it long, but he refused to wear a top knot, as far as Hwan had seen.

Hwan took away the leather band, and brushed it out, the hair slipping through his fingers like silk. 

“Do you do this for your clients?” He asked, after a few minutes. 

He shook his head. “No. Some do, and I get asked to do it. I don't like to, though.” His mother had done this for his father, when she was still alive, and for the children. Because of that, he had never been able to disassociate the act from a certain level of intimacy, comparable to a kiss. Hwan had lines, thick ones, that clients were not allowed to cross. Brushing someone's hair was one of those lines.

He rebound the hair, in a much neater tail, then brushed that out. Reza's hair was not as long as his, but a respectable length, falling to just the middle of his back. Plaiting his was harder, the fine strands not cooperating as easily as his own. “If you're going to treat it so poorly, why not just chop it off?” 

“Why do you ask so many questions?” He didn't sound upset, only curious. 

“My mother used to ask me that.” He mused, thinking aloud. “She used to tell me that curiousity killed the cat, whatever that's supposed to mean. _I'm_ not a cat.” Even he knew he sounded bratty, but it was Reza, not a client, so it didn't matter.

“No. You're more like a fox.” Reza chuckled, even as Hwan made a face at his back, not sure he liked that. “What happened to her?” 

His hands only faltered a little, before he shook it off. “She died when I was eight. Illness, of some kind.” He supposed he was lucky he had been so old, when she left him. Unlike Sung and Yun, he at least remembered her clearly, her perfume, the way her voice had sounded. “Hye took it harder than I did.”

He finished the braid, biting his lip as he realized he had no more ties. Shrugging, he undid the ribbon at the end of his own, and knotted it carefully, so it had no tail. Reza wouldn't appreciate that. “That why your father fucked you over?”

Hwan wrinkled his nose, trying to understand, as he ran his palm down Reza's glossy hair, absentmindedly. He went back to the dressing table, finding another for himself. “My father isn't a bad parent. He tried, and he does love us.” 

“He sold you as a whore.” Reza spat, his eye narrowed.

“Yes, well, I didn't say he was perfect, did I?” It infuriated him, how his father gambled, but there was nothing he could do about it anymore. He'd accepted that. “Things happen. We can either dwell on them until they eat us alive, or move on. I choose to move on. It's easier.” 

Reza was looking at him rather intently again, and it made him draw his dressing gown a little tighter around himself. “What?” He asked, oddly nervous.

The taller man stood, giving him an advantage over Hwan, not that he needed anymore of one. “Nothing.” He adjusted the patch over his eye, and Hwan worried he'd jostled it when he'd been brushing his hair. He wondered if the eye was truly gone, underneath, like everyone said. “Boss is coming this afternoon. Bringing the whole board. He requested you, Taruk, and that pretty boy from the Fire Nation, the one that never talks.” 

He meant Baraz, lovely enough to pass for a woman if he had cared to. Some men liked that kind of thing. “Going for a diverse palate?” 

Reza smirked at him. “I guess.” He kept his blind side to Hwan as he kept speaking. It was too hard for him to judge his expression like that, the twisted scars ruining any lines around his mouth or the destroyed eye. “Don't take anyone upstairs. I'm going to have business to go over with you, after.” 

He frowned. “Reza, I have to earn.” 

“Then I'll take it out of the house profits.” He almost snapped. It was enough to make Hwan draw back, at the very least. “Besides, I'm owed the courtesy, aren't I? It's my choice what I use those hours for.” 

“I suppose.” He answered, cautious. He wasn't afraid of Reza, not exactly, but he could make Hwan's life very difficult, if he so chose. Their little banter was fun, so far, but there was going to be a line somewhere, and Hwan was loathe to stumble across it by accident. “Fine. I'll see you after.” 

Once he was gone, and down the stairs, Hwan listening at the door, he stole downstairs, quiet as a cat, or, like Reza had compared him, a fox. His quilt was folded neatly in the laundry room, dry and clean, thankfully. He hated when clients insisted on not using a rubber. Granted, he never did anything more than touch without one, but it still made a disgusting mess on his bed. 

Upstairs, he spread it out neatly on the bed, tucking in the corners crisply. 

With Reza gone, he was free to finish the rest of his process. Not that he would have minded Reza in the room, he supposed. The man stared, yes, but it was never in that slimy way that made Hwan want to hide himself. He was merely appreciative, and he never touched, for which Hwan was grateful. 

He'd already bathed that morning, so there was no need for that. The hair on his face, like all men in he house, was stripped away with heated wax once a week, to keep his skin smooth, so that wasn't a problem either. 

Lotion, into his skin, to keep it soft. When he had been first brought into a house, the woman who had trained him, Fen, had told him that if their clients wanted calluses under their hands, they'd fuck a kitchen servant for free. Those of their profession were a treat, she'd said, and should seem like one.

Scent, an expensive gift he'd been given last month, before the house was sold, or rather, stolen, out from under the Agni Kai, was dabbed behind his ears, at the space between his collarbone, on his wrists, and between his thighs, before he remembered he wasn't supposed to take anyone tonight. 

Too late, he thought, with a shrug, putting the bottle back. 

He used a brush to leave a line of pigment only a few shades darker than his own skin tone along the rim of the upper lids of his eyes. Then, with care, he heated a dab of lampblack, and applied it to his lashes, so they appeared thicker and longer. This way, his eyes seemed greener. Even if he wasn't up for purchase tonight, it was good to leave a nice impression, for the future. 

Lastly, he rubbed a fingertip of beeswax into his lips to keep them soft, especially in the cold air. 

Green today, he decided, choosing cream colored trousers, and a green robe that reached his knees. He wrapped it around himself, and pinned it in place while he chose first a darker green, leaf-patterned sash to bind it, then another, thinner belt of fabric to wrap on top of that, a pattern of chrysanthemums stitched into it. Soft green house shoes were last, too fine to ever go outside. 

When he studied himself in the mirror, he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked like a toy, he thought, without feeling. Well, he was a desirable toy, and that was what mattered. If he was lucky, one of the more boring higher-ups would start to take notice of him soon. 

Taruk, bright and happy, was already waiting by the kitchen downstairs, Baraz a silent shadow against the wall. He turned his eyes to Hwan, waiting for his lead, while Taruk hummed. “Stop that.” He ordered, and Taruk did. “It's the three of us entertaining today. Try to keep the higher-ups happy. That means anyone sitting near Zolt. However,” Hwan held up a finger. “Do not touch Zolt. Shin turns moody. You can flirt, make him happy, but _do not touch_.” 

“What about Shin?” Taruk asked. “He flirts.” 

Hwan sighed. “If Shin is open to it, and Zolt is smiling, yes. If Zolt stops smiling, get away, and quickly.” He thought, trying to remember everything they needed to know. “The lieutenant at his left, the mutt, don't touch him either. He won't hurt you, but he doesn't like whores. If he insults you, just smile.” Non-bender he may be, but Lieu was as dangerous as a double-edged knife. “Don't flirt with any of the women unless they flirt with you first. They know what kind of house this is, they won't ask for you.” Zolt had three women in his inner circle, all benders, but Hwan couldn't remember their names. “And leave Reza be.”

“Because he's yours?” Taruk asked innocently. Baraz raised an eyebrow, obviously wondering the same thing.

“Why would you ask me that?” His voice was cool, and Taruk heard the chill in it. He shrank back, like a scolded puppy. 

“You two spend a lot of time together, is all. And he likes you. He doesn't like anyone but you.” Taruk was a little sharper than Hwan gave him credit for. He was sure the strange, childlike way the boy behaved was no act, but he had to remember that it didn't make him stupid, either. “You're his, aren't you?” 

Hwan narrowed his eyes. “Either way, leave him alone. He has no interest in going upstairs.” 

Taruk nodded, not willing to push his luck any further. “Anything else?” 

“Behave yourselves. Anyone in that room can end you without so much as a warning. Do not make them angry.” Taruk swallowed, nervous, while Baraz remained expressionless. “On the bright side, these are the officers of this club. If you can wrap one around your finger, consider it a victory.” 

The kitchen servants came out with trays of tea and alcohol for them, and they went to work. Already, the group was mostly gathered, Reza at Zolt's right hand, Lieu at his left, the three deep in discussion. 

Hwan knelt, serving Zolt first, the good liquor. Lieu raised his eyebrows at him, his only indication that he wanted alcohol, not tea. 

“Sato wants to know what the benefits are of this deal.” Lieu was saying, as he smoked. Thankfully, whoever had prepared the room had put the ashtrays out, and he was using it like a civilized human being. “He seems to think he'll be owed a stake in our affairs.” Lieu made a face that showed exactly what he thought of that. 

“Would that be too bad? Sato's respectable.” Reza said, his bad arm in his lap, remaining fingers spread against his knee. Oddly enough, he wasn't smoking. 

“And?” Zolt asked.

Reza raised his eyebrow. “We're not. We could use someone like that.” He waited, as Hwan filled his teacup. “It's not like the Council cares what we say, unless we start breaking things. Might be useful, in the long run. Not to mention all those pretty little toys of his.” 

Hwan rose to leave, but was stopped, by Zolt, a hand on his forearm. “Why don't you stay and pour for us?” 

“Of course.” He agreed, flicking his eyes to Shin. The man was making his best effort to pretend he wasn't glaring. Hwan resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because the last place he wanted to be was in the middle of their domestic squabble.

“I do like those motorcycles he showed us.” Lieu grinned, showing teeth. “Think he'll give me one?” 

“I think that's the last thing you need.” Reza replied. “Maybe we should let that come to the table. I don't mind doing business with Sato.” 

Lieu shrugged. “I don't know. Something about him is putting me off. He's a little intense.” 

Zolt gave a short bark of laughter. “Making Lieu uncomfortable. That's a feat.” Hwan poured for him again, as he took a deep drag of his cigar. He hated them even more than cigarettes, the smell stronger. “I like the idea of us having a nice face to keep the Council off our backs. And Zhang.” The Chief of Police, just as bad as her predecessor, Bei Fong, if not worse. At least Bei Fong had a sense of humor, and a working heart. Zhang was made of stone. 

“Zhang won't be bribed.” Reza said. “But she has to show at least a little respect to Sato.” 

Hwan listened without listening. None of this was any of his business, and he was better off not knowing any details. He poured when they needed it, and served their food, and thought about nothing. 

Shin was leering at Baraz, less genuine appreciation and more an attempt to make Zolt angry. Baraz was too pretty for Shin's tastes. 

It was distracting Zolt, making his fingers tighten around his cup. Hwan poured for him, and tried not to flinch when his fingers brushed his jaw. “You get prettier every time I see you, you know?”

“You get drunker every time you see me.” Hwan pointed out, not willing to risk flirting back. 

Zolt chuckled. “Not that drunk.” His voice was suggestive. “How about you keep me company, tonight?” They must have really had it out, if Zolt was making that kind of move right in front of him. Damn it, he did not need to be put in this kind of precarious position. If Zolt decided he wanted him, fine, but no one else would touch him if he did, and Zolt wasn't looking for a permanent pet. 

“He's busy.” Reza interjected, and Zolt's hand fell away, as he turned his attention to his lieutenant. 

“Is he now?” When Reza said nothing, Zolt laughed again. “Trust you to pick the prettiest boy for yourself.” 

Hwan didn't protest, even as he seethed, because Reza was just making it worse. Zolt was generous, and he was sure that even if he played with Hwan a little, there would be a few brave enough to approach him again. If Reza acted like he had a claim, no one would. “You're just trying to piss Shin off, anyway.” He said, as Hwan settled back on his knees. 

“Maybe I want a little variety.” He nodded at Lieu. “How's it going with your little Inspiration?” 

“None of your business.” The man replied, glaring at him a little. “Why don't you get your own house in order?” He didn't even glance at Shin, but that was obviously what he meant. It amazed Hwan, how casual the non-bender and Reza were with Zolt. He had heard things about this man, awful things, and though he had never been cruel to them, there was a certain coldness in his eyes that allowed Hwan to easily believe those rumors. 

And yet, the two lieutenants treated him like a friend. “Aiko says everything looks good for the deal with the White Lily.” Reza said, nudging his empty cup with his good hand. He took the hint and refilled it. “She sampled some of the wares, of course.” 

“Ah, Aiko,” Zolt sighed, looking down the table, at the Fire Nation woman showing off for Taruk, with a few simple firebending tricks. The Water Tribe boy was still unused to firebenders, and he smiled in delight, as the firebender behind him scooped him up and deposited him in his lap. 

He was well-liked, Hwan noted, for good reasons. He looked as sweet as he behaved, as he cuddled up to the man like a puppy, kissing him on his jaw. Unlike Hwan, Taruk had apparently been practically raised in a house in the North, and to him, showing genuine affection to his clients was normal. 

It gave Zolt ideas, in any case, as he leered at Hwan. “How about a kiss, then, hm?” 

“Don't make me hit you, Chang.” Reza drawled, using a name that Hwan had never heard. 

“Guess we could find out if you really can kick my ass with one hand, huh?” Zolt laughed, as Reza shoved at him with his good hand. 

The comment made Hwan curious, as he subtly eyed the bad arm. He had wondered if Reza could still bend with it, or if the damage really was that bad. Burns could appear worse than they really were. 

“Bet I can.” Reza replied, smiling. It was easier to tell, since it was his good side facing Hwan, that he was actually in a good mood now. 

“Yeah, we'll see.” Zolt made it sound like he was humoring him, and Lieu laughed now, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray. He pulled out a new one, and held it out. Reza used his good hand to light it for him, as Hwan poured him a new cup of liquor. “You want that house, Lieu?”

“Nah.” 

“But you don't like women. You're perfect for it.” That was news to Hwan. He didn't know many men who were exclusive like that. Lieu just shook his head though. “What's wrong? Scared your little Inspiration won't like it?” 

“I like having sex.” Lieu said, taking a deep drag of the new cigarette. “And I guarantee I won't get so much as a kiss if he finds out I'm running a whorehouse. Besides, I don't even like being around these ones.” He nodded at Hwan. 

“I may cry in my despair.” Hwan said, before he could curb his tongue. 

Reza chuckled though, low in his throat. Zolt did too. “Careful there, Lieu, I think this one bites.” 

“Reza's the one who needs to be careful, then.” Lieu replied, his eyes on Hwan. “Might catch something.” It was a challenge, one Hwan was sorely tempted to rise to. It wasn't worth it though, he was experienced enough to know that. 

So he only smiled, and hoped Lieu couldn't see how insubordinate it truly was. 

Reza was watching Lieu, and like this, Hwan could read his face, could see there was a quiet warning towards Lieu. _Don't fuck with me_ , it said, and that caution he warred with inside reminded him that kind as Reza was to him, as easy as they spoke to one another, Reza had earned that dragon on his arm, and it probably wasn't the only ink he had in his skin. 

The meeting dissolved into its usual debauched chaos, as those too drunk to stand were helped into the futons that had been spread in the next room, and the rest went home or upstairs. The firebender wrapped around Taruk looked like he couldn't wait to get to the room, but with a skill that defied his age and sweet demeanor, Taruk darted from his grip, pausing in the doorway, encouraging him to give chase. 

Even he was a little troubled by how experienced he was, at such a young age. He was just barely fifteen, and looked it. Still, none of his business. 

In Reza's office, it was quiet, as the man followed him in. In this part of the house, one couldn't hear much of what was going on in the rest. 

As soon as the door was shut and secure, Hwan rounded on him. “What did I tell you about playing favorites with me? In front of everyone, again?” 

“What, you want Shin making your life a nightmare?” He was frightening to look at when angry, the way his face twisted down in a scowl, the scarring making him look almost monstrous in this light. “Zolt was using you to piss him off, and you know it. Or did you want to try for the boss?” There was a nastiness there that Hwan didn't like. 

“In case you don't know this, the only way for me to get some kind of stability is for one of you to pick me. I want stability, Reza.” Even angry, he kept his voice down. “Don't act like I'm yours when you have no intention of keeping me. I have to earn, or I'll be in trouble.” 

“I said I would pay for the hours, didn't I?” He shot back, his voice low too, thankfully. 

“That's not enough!” He hissed. “If I don't have protection, I'll be vulnerable!” 

“Do you think I won't protect you?” Reza gestured with his good hand in a way that made Hwan curl into himself defensively. He caught the movement, and put his hand down, the fingers curling into a fist. “I'm not like that. So don't do that.” 

Hwan was embarrassed and even a little ashamed of the action. Reza had never harmed him, he had no reason to flinch. “I'm sorry.” He conceded. “But you don't seem to understand how this works, at all. I am not a toy you can put down, and then get angry about when someone else plays with me. Either you decide I'm yours, or you let me conduct my business.” Not that he wanted to be Reza's, particularly, but he was Zolt's right hand lieutenant. It wouldn't be a bad position to be in at all. 

Reza looked torn, and it frustrated Hwan enough he wanted to swear. He didn't need this kind of trouble. The man desired him, that was no great secret, they got along well enough, and maybe he wouldn't really mind all that much. If Reza was going to choose anyone, it should be him, anyway. The others, any of them would talk behind his back, and they didn't like him like Hwan did. 

“Could you help me run this place, if I said you were mine?” 

Hwan nodded. “If I didn't have clients, I could manage most of the paperwork, show you how to do it.” 

“Do I have to fuck you?” 

He sneered. “Try not to sound so enthusiastic.” He was actually a little insulted. Did Reza think that poorly of him and his profession? “But no. You would have to sleep in my room, on occasion. Once a week, at the least.” His bed was large enough, and Reza seemed like the type who kept to himself when he slept. “Are you actually considering this?” 

“I can't understand half of what you say when it comes to this mess.” He sounded tired, and annoyed. “I need you to do most of it. I can handle the numbers, but all the purchases, the wages, the training, I don't get any of it.” 

“So if I do it, you'll take care of me?” He asked. 

“Yes.” He could sound less like it bothered him, Hwan thought, a little insulted. “Do I really have to sleep in your room?”

He made a face. “I assure you, my room is cleaner than yours.” 

“That's not the problem. I just don't like your incense.” 

Hwan rolled his eyes, and sat down at the desk, tucking his legs under himself primly. For a second, Reza just stood there, looking awkward, but then he sat down catty-corner to him. 

He twirled his braid, thinking, before turning to Reza, keeping his gaze lowered in respect as he did so. “Thank you, Reza.” To be protected, without being asked for something he didn't want to give, was more than he had ever thought to ask for. 

“Yeah, whatever.” He grumbled. Hwan smirked, and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Reza's cheek. 

For a second, the man was frozen under him, and then, with a careful hand, he pushed Hwan away, back to his spot. “Don't.” He said, his voice low, and final. “Don't do that.”

He was serious, quite so, and it made Hwan uneasy, and, if he was honest with himself, it stung a little too, that Reza didn't even want his affection. “Alright.” 

Reza was respecting his space. He'd give that same respect back.


	10. And if you're in love, you are the lucky one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amon studies, and comes to a decision about his abilities. (Sort of) Lieu goes up against the Sea Raven, suffers from a mysterious bad mood, and gets a new toy.
> 
> His feet are cold, in the apartment. He doesn't much mind though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Kind of a filler chapter. I just wanted to say how happy everyone makes me. Seriously. It's embarrassing, and makes me anxious like crazy, but I love that I've made people happy. The fanart, the fanfics (of a fanfic! of OCs, no less!), all of it makes me happy, because I've managed to make other people happy, and given something people really like. So thank you, everyone, and please enjoy this breather chapter.

Amon was struggling through a Fire Nation transcript on union laws when someone covered his eyes. “Guess,” Amon could hear the smile in his voice, as a kiss was pressed to the soft skin behind his ear. 

“You smell like cigarettes.” He said, wrinkling his nose. The harsh scent was normally clinging to the man, but not usually so strong. There was the pungent smell of perfumed smoke as well, mixed in. “And incense.” 

“Sorry. My friend's been burning it to cover up his smoking. His little pet has been getting after him about it.” Lieu was smirking in an odd way. 

“Pet?” Amon gave up on the passage, the distraction of his fighter having ruined his concentration. He'd have to start all over again. 

His fighter peered over the papers. “A little fox with too much mouth on him.” He eyed the one Amon was reading. “You can read Fire Nation text?”

“Not really.” He shook his head. “I have to keep translating.” He nodded at the book he had opened to the side. “It's giving me a headache.” He rubbed his temples in a circular motion, trying to ease the strain. He would have to call it a night soon enough. 

Nonchalantly, his fighter stole it out from under him. “Union laws? What are you looking at these for?” 

“Curiousity.” He still wasn't quite sure what he was doing with all of this. Hwan had said an entire movement would be necessary to change the way people were treated in this city, but he wasn't sure how one got a movement started. He had found a book detailing the history of how the Fire Nation colonies had protested being returned to the Earth Kingdom, but it looked like they had help from higher ups. He needed something with more of a grassroots start, he thought.

His fighter shrugged, and started nosing through the other books. “What's this?” 

“A book about pregnancy.” He explained. That had been at Kanna's instruction. 

Lieu raised an eyebrow. “And you're looking at this because...?”

“Because I'm a healer and I need to be able to take care of women as well as men.” He replied, raising an eyebrow back. Lieu was so weird, sometimes. “Don't you have a fight tonight?”

“Yep. You're coming.” 

“No, I'm not. I have to study.” Lieu rolled his eyes and pulled away the notebook Amon had been scribbling in. 

“You're coming to my fight.” It was only because he was so lanky that he could lean across the corner far enough to be in Amon's space, and Amon hated him a little for it. He pulled on a side tail, grinning, as Amon scowled at him. “Come on, I need some luck, tonight.” 

They were in a library, he reminded himself, as Lieu leaned over further, to kiss his jaw, though they were well-hidden in a corner table. Still, he wasn't comfortable, and he moved his head away. “Stop.” He ordered, taking his notebook back. “You just want me to come home with you after.”

“I'll need healing.” He pointed out. “What if I mess my hands up again?” One of said hands caressed his face, moving down to his neck. “And you like coming home with me.” 

There were footsteps approaching, and Amon drew back from the hand, embarrassed about being seen like that in this place. He didn't miss the way Lieu frowned as he did it, but he had told him to stop, and he hadn't listened. 

A librarian came around the corner. “Amon.” She said, smiling. “I found another book on maternal-fetal medicine. It details case studies, I think.” She frowned. “I'm afraid my Southern Water Tribe is still a little iffy, though, so maybe not.” 

Amon took it, and flipped through, pleasantly surprised. “This is very good. It's a compilation of case studies on at-risk pregnancies. Thank you.” 

The librarian smiled at the two of them. “You're welcome.” She raised her eyebrows at Lieu. “Are you a friend?” 

“Not sure.” Lieu said, tipping back in his chair as Amon avoided his eyes. 

“Ah.” She nodded, looking about as awkward as Amon felt, quickly excusing herself. 

Amon narrowed his eyes at him. “What was that about?” 

“This is what pissed me off before.” His fighter said, pointing at him accusingly. “You're hot and you're cold, and I don't like being jerked around. You don't get to make all the rules here.” Amon stood up, annoyed, and replaced a book he didn't need anymore. When he turned around, Lieu was there, pushing him against the shelves. Amon still couldn't figure out how a person moved like he did, so swiftly and silently. He certainly couldn't.

“Stop.” He demanded emphatically, looking around them for witnesses, as he raised his hands to Lieu's chest. 

“I don't understand how you can be begging me for it one second, and putting distance between us the next. I don't like it.” He backed off at Amon's push though, something cautious in his face that Amon didn't like. “You said...” He paused, then continued. “That stuff you said, you meant it, right? Because I did.” 

Amon nodded, still checking for eavesdroppers. “Please, I'm just,” Lieu raised his eyebrows, waiting. “I don't know what I'm doing.” He had no concept of what was appropriate here, what he was supposed to say, or how to explain. He liked when Lieu touched him, but he was embarrassed by just how _much_ he liked the almost possessive way Lieu would cup the back of his neck, or place a hand on the small of his back. When Lieu had a hand on him, or stood beside him, he felt safe, protected. 

He didn't like how he needed that. He hadn't realized how alone he had felt, until Lieu was there, darting past his defenses. It made him think of training, oddly enough, about the long hours spent outside, until he had become so numb, he hadn't even realized he was cold until he was beside the fire again. Just like then, he was loathe to lose the comfort of it, and he despised the weakness within that it implied. 

But why else would he feel that way with this man if he wasn't meant to be with him? Why would he be so helplessly drawn to him, to his touch, if he wasn't meant to love it? 

Lieu didn't touch him now, just raked a hand through his short hair, seeming frustrated. “You need to stop doing this.” He said. “Tell me things, Amon. I can't read your mind.”

“I told you to stop.” He argued weakly, his fingers curling into his shirt. He could feel his heartbeat, beneath his fingers, could so easily imagine taking the step forward to press himself against it completely.

“Yeah, well, you have a problem with your mouth saying one thing while you're doing the opposite.” His fighter pointed out. “So you have to forgive me if I get a little confused about when you actually mean it.” 

Amon swallowed. “You can be overwhelming.” He confessed, meeting his eyes, hoping he understood what Amon meant. 

His fighter shifted, thinking. Still not touching Amon, he held his eyes. They were a good blue, despite the unusual shape. He'd never before seen anyone with the combination his fighter had, but then, he'd never seen a Water Tribe/Fire Nation mix. “Yeah. For me too.” High cheekbones, that was Fire Nation, and his hair, so fine and black. If it hadn't been for the eyes, maybe he could have passed. But there was something in his jawline that wasn't quite right, that put Amon in mind of his own people. So maybe not. “That's how it's supposed to be. You want to touch people you like. Don't you know that?” 

“I like you.” Amon took his hand, and pressed it to his own side. “And I like being touched by you. But,” he paused, afraid, “being so close, it just,” _feels dangerous_.

He didn't even know what he was saying, but apparently his fighter did, as the hand slid to Amon's back, pulled him in, the other going to Amon's face. His fingers were playing with Amon's hair again, as he brushed a kiss against his cheek. “I'm not going to hurt you. I swear.” Amon could feel himself shaking, as his fingers dug in harder to Lieu's shirt. That heartbeat, steady and strong. “I'm not going to ask who fucked you up. But I swear, I'll never use this against you, okay?” 

_This_ was the feeling now, clawing its way up Amon's throat and filling his lungs with dangerous hope for what, he didn't know. He just knew that he wanted this man, wanted more than he had ever had from another human being. That first night, he'd looked at him, and seen so much inside. Lieu wasn't safe, was as dangerous as he first suspected. He could see it even now, as he leaned over Amon, that he was all sharp edges and jagged pieces, but that was okay. So was he.

If he stood on the balls of his feet, he and Lieu were almost the same height, and they could kiss. Carefully, he lowered the temperature in his mouth again, so that the kiss was cool. It was to match the grip Lieu had in his shirt, the way he had him pinned against the shelves. 

“Come to my fight,” Lieu cajoled, against his lips. “I'll win, with you there.”

“You'll win anyway.” 

“But if you're there, I get my favorite prize. The one where I take you home, you heal me, and then we try to make it to the bed.” His voice was still so low, and in Amon's ear like this, it made something dark and hot curl in his stomach. “I love that one.” 

So did he, if he was being open. “I'll come.” He agreed.

Lieu chuckled. “Bet I can make that happen a few times.” 

His face burned, as he realized the double entendre, but he still let his fighter kiss the corner of his mouth one more time, before the man drew back, letting him free. “I need to study today though. I start training for maternal-fetal practical next week.” 

His fighter sighed, but seemed to accept it. “I thought you graduated?”

“As a healer, first level. The next level is learning surgical procedures, for when my healing can't fix the problem, so to speak.” Even fewer would move to these more complicated medicines, but Amon knew he could learn it, and he wanted to. His fighter had the blank look of non-comprehension on his face, but Amon supposed if he had tried to explain to him how that plate in his apartment worked, he'd have been just as confused. “It's another year of training.” Well, it would be for him. Non-benders and benders other than waterbenders had more extensive training to learn different techniques than the ones he could use with his bending. 

His fighter was smiling now, in that way that confused him. He couldn't identify the emotion behind it at all. “What?” Amon asked, trying to suss it out. 

That now familiar tug on a side tail, and that same smile were the answers he got, all the good they did. “The fight tonight is at the Ram's Head Tavern, over in the Market District. Ask your friend to give you directions.” He smirked. “I have something I want to show you after.” 

Amon looked at him, curious, but Lieu did that thing where he mimed pulling a zipper across his mouth again. “What time?”

“Seven is when it starts.” Amon sat back down, and Lieu crouched down beside him, so now he was the one looking up. “I'll watch for you.” 

Impulsively, he leaned down and kissed him, his fighter actually following him up as he pulled back. “Just in case I'm late.” He explained, keeping his voice down. He still didn't quite understand how a kiss was good luck, but his fighter seemed to like the idea. And he liked him. 

“Hm. One more, just in case?” He was teasing, but even as Amon scowled at him, he was pressing another kiss against his mouth, hand cupping the back of his neck. Then there was another, and one more, and there would have been a third, except Amon stopped him, pulling back completely. 

Amon turned away from him, going back to his text. “I'll see you tonight.” 

“Fine.” He stood, and bent, to kiss Amon at his temple, just to make Amon frown at him, before he disappeared back into the stacks. 

It occurred to him suddenly, to wonder how his fighter had found him. He hadn't told anyone where he was going, back at the clinic, though maybe Penna or Pasook had guessed at his location. He was only ever at one of three places, either here, the clinic, or his fighter's apartment. Anywhere else he went was with his companions or his fighter. 

Now that he thought of it though, he had been under the impression Penna was attending with a midwife today, and Pasook was out with a new group of apprentices, soliciting donations. Maybe he had asked someone else then, like Yasu. 

After a time, he became so absorbed in the text, he forgot about the matter entirely. 

He returned it all to the cart, except what he could take back to his dorm, and headed back, the cold cutting through his gloved hands as he walked. There was no snow today, just the slush from the day before melting in the pale yellow sunlight that was still doggedly pushing through the space between the buildings. It softened the sharp edges of the city, in a good way, the whole street full of the smoky scent of wood fire from the restaurants preparing dinner. It was all a rather pleasant walk, despite the crisp chill. 

He hadn't noticed any of this last year, he thought, when he should have. Seasons didn't mean the same thing in the North, only the difference between increasing darkness and endless daylight, the herd movements. There had been nothing like it was here, no obvious autumn or spring. He couldn't recall what spring had been like here, either. He would have to pay attention this year. 

One of the books in his heavy bag was one he hadn't wanted his fighter to see, had barely been able to work up the courage to ask for, really. It was a thin one, but it was full of drawings and notes from Katara herself, on, of all things, bloodbending. She had written down everything she had been able to understand of it, combined with her knowledge of the body, and had, from that point, managed to theorize just how it could be applied. 

He needed to study it more in depth, without fearing prying eyes looking at him. The library had been too public. His dorm though, that was safe. He could hide it under the mattress when he wasn't there, or among his clothing. 

It was just, well, he had an idea. Why had the spirits given him this power, when it seemed to violate the principles of good and evil? Maybe there was another way, another use. He wasn't going to pretend it wasn't all spurred by his guilt over his lies to his fighter, and the pain his mother suffered, but it wasn't the only reason. 

Still, maybe there was a chance he could right his father's wrong. He just needed to take a closer look at the exact way the body was structured, needed to gain a better understanding. He had done well with the theories of healing just from text alone, after all, and he was already a master bloodbender. He just needed to tweak the way he used it, he suspected. Fine tune it. 

The way his father had taught them, had been to forcefully grab, and twist, or pull. With a softer touch, maybe the pain could be reduced, and a use could be found. Like in the maternal-fetal medicine text, there was a huge section on the dangers of hemorrhaging during labor, of the surgical procedures used to stop it. Amon theorized that his bloodbending might be a better way to control that though. He certainly wasn't willing to test it though. He wasn't sure he could bring himself to ever use it again.

 _The health and life of my patient will be my first consideration._ Those were the words he had said, without any stipulations added. If he thought he could use this curse as a gift, than he needed to get past his own hang-ups when it came to it. 

Tarrlok's face, and _“That felt awful!”_ , surfaced to the forefront of his mind. Traitorous Noatak, hurting the only person who loved him. 

He couldn't, he thought, as he walked up the stairs. How could he ever use it again? After he had seen what it could do firsthand, had felt the fear of those animals pounding in his head, as loud as his own terrified heart? He had felt his brother's fear, Tarrlok, looking at him like he couldn't be trusted, like he would rather stay with their father, who had never shown them an ounce of love, than leave with Noatak. 

Because at least they knew the monster their father was. They knew what he was capable of. Tarrlok had looked at him that night, and feared him more than their father. All because of what he could do, what they could do. 

He shoved the treacherous text under his mattress as soon as he reached his room, then sat down and pulled his knees to his chest, trying to straighten out his thoughts. 

What if Lieu found out? 

Amon squeezed his eyes shut, and shook his head determinedly. He wouldn't find out, not until Amon knew for sure he wouldn't leave him over it. He _would_ tell him the truth, once he was sure his fighter understood that Amon was not that man, would never be that man. Then it would be okay.

It had to be okay. 

-

Kneeling on the prayer rug, he stared at the fountain, trying to make it all make sense. 

“What is the point of your forgiveness?” He asked, not wanting to sound ungrateful, but still confused. “You blessed me with far more than anyone else. You put me through hardship, and pain, then saved me from it. You guided me here.” And she _had_ , he was sure. “Why? What do you want me to do?”

They were silent, as always, and he brought his forehead down to the stones in supplication. 

“Please, guide me,” Amon pleaded. “I am still lost. What path are you trying to lead me to?” 

He sat back up, watching the light play on the water. There was a point to all of this, he had a purpose here, in Republic City. He had not come here by accident. 

Nor had he met the people he had met by mistake. Hwan, and his treacherous world with the careful line he walked. Kanna, and her endless patience, her careful guidance. 

His fighter, maligned because of something he couldn't control, wasted by the world for having blue eyes in a pale face. 

“Republic City is supposed to be a beacon for the world, a way to heal the fissures the Hundred Year War created.” A way for the world to learn to live in harmony, again. “Yet, even here, the divides still exist. Between benders and non-benders, between mixed and pure, between those that are deemed less than by the same ones who put them in that position.” Punished for being a whore, when the same people dolling out the punishment were the ones who filled the coffers of the tea house. “It's not fair. No one should be treated so badly, just because they don't fit what someone else deems acceptable. And no one should live in fear.” Like Hwan did, to the point he was considering a man like Reza, a man who would do nothing but hurt him, just to stay alive.

“Criminals are given special treatment, as long as they have enough money.” He said, thinking about the Triads. “They're awful, cruel people, and no one cares, as long as their cruelty is directed at those they consider deserving.” 

He bowed again, and continued to speak, more respectfully. He was almost fearful to say what he was thinking, wondering if he was overstepping his bounds. “Has the Avatar failed these people? Is that why you saved me? To help them?” 

There was still no answer.

He wasn't sure what that meant.

-

The place Pasook directed him to was as smoky and disgusting as the first place they had gone. The floor was sticky under his shoes, from spilled beer and other things he didn't want to identify in the dim lanterns strung from the ceiling. 

Around him, the press of bodies was enough to make his skin crawl, the smell awful. Sweat, smoke, alcohol, and more of that same stale saltwater scent. Dockworkers then, he deduced, like before, along with other trades. 

Pasook had opted not to go, leaving him alone. Yasu apparently didn't like to come down here, and Pasook had decided that staying with him would be more enjoyable. “After all,” he'd said, with a lazy smile. “You're just going to ditch me for that brawler.” Amon had not been able to argue with that, but he still didn't like coming down here by himself. These people made him nervous.

Weaving carefully, he was able to make his way to the front, where the fight had already started. His fighter was against the man with the tattoo again, Sea Raven, ducking a wide-swinging kick, and coming in with a strong elbow to the taller man's ribs, then spinning to the back, where he swept his legs out from under him. 

Sea Raven hit the ground with a thump, his long legs tangled, and the crowd booed in mockery. 

His fighter stood straight, looking down at the man with cold indifference, not a trace of that casual amusement that had been there before. What was he thinking, Amon wondered, as he the wave of people pushed him against one of the poles of the ring. He dug his fingers in unconsciously, as the round went to his fighter, to the anger of the crowd. 

The man looked up, and saw Amon, but he didn't relax at all. When the referee ordered them to their corners, Amon was pleased to discover he had chosen the correct one, as his fighter joined him. “What round was that?” He asked, when he was close enough to hear him. 

“Fourth.” He replied, shortly. “It's going right.” That was a strange thing to say, he thought, but his fighter's attention was turned away before he could ask, to a man about his own age, his height, Water Tribe, who had snuck up beside them. “What?” His fighter asked, sounding impatient. 

The man had an arrogant look to him that Amon didn't much like, nor did he like the way the man eyed him, as he answered his fighter. “That was a little close, for Zolt's taste.” He said, leaning on the pole beside Amon. He smelled strongly of cigarettes, but not like his fighter's. There was a sweet smell to the smoke that clung to him that turned his stomach a little, the more he breathed it in. “You need to watch your right.”

His fighter's face was oddly cold, as gave the man the minimal amount of his attention. “You trying to give me advice, Shin?” 

Amon remembered that first night, suddenly, the first time he had seen this man. That warning that had rung through him, that his fighter was no champion, but instead dangerous. The way he looked at this Water Tribesman, Shin, it was that same look, that predatory glint in his eyes that encouraged caution. 

Shin saw it too. 

“No, just, you know, Zolt.” He said, backing off, smiling like it was a joke. “You know how he is.”

His fighter was still looking at Shin like he hadn't quite decided what to do with him just yet. “You got something to say about Zolt?” 

The Water Tribesman paled. “No, I just, I meant,”

“Go on.” His fighter ordered, jerking his head to the side. “I can handle myself.” It was an order, one that Shin almost jumped to obey, the man disappearing back into the crowd. Lieu wiped his face on a towel hanging over the ropes, and huffed. 

Amon wasn't sure if he should touch him. He wasn't flirtatious, like he usually was, and he was making no effort to touch Amon, like he always did. “Is something the matter?” He wasn't even sure he should ask. 

“No.” He replied, and that was it. He didn't even tug on Amon's hair as he turned away, to go back to the center, where Sea Raven was waiting. The right side of his face was reddening, his eyes narrowed down at Lieu, as they waited, the referee speaking to them.

The crowd around him was loud, the energy rippling through like a lightning storm, as the referee raised his hand for the round to start. This was different from before, with the three round matches, but why there were more, he didn't know. He should have asked that, instead of prying into what was clearly a bad mood. 

Sea Raven landed a hit, to his fighter's thigh, a hard one that should have done more damage than it seemed to. How did he do that, Amon wondered. How did he take hits like that and just keep going? He certainly couldn't, he was sure, especially not to the thigh. 

His fighter was serious, very much so, mouth drawn in a hard line instead of the easy neutrality that had been there before. He took the strike, then the next one, to his jaw, but before Sea Raven could follow up his fighter dodged, spun, and connected, a harsh kick right to the other's rib cage. 

It should have ended the fight, Amon knew. His fighter was more than strong enough to crack ribs with a hit like that, but for reasons he couldn't fathom, he'd held back. He'd given it just enough to stun the other fighter, knock him down and win the round, but not enough to claim victory. 

Around him, money exchanged hands, and his fighter remained in the ring. He did not come to Amon, did not even glance his way. Had he done something to anger him? He didn't think so. He'd seemed fine when he'd left him that afternoon. 

He hadn't even kissed him. 

The next round was called, and his fighter and the Sea Raven started up again, the Sea Raven slower, clearly wearing himself out as he tried to keep up with his fighter. Lieu was so much better though, he observed. They were both tall, lanky men, but where his fighter was so clearly in control of every movement he made, so at ease with his body, Sea Raven wasn't. He kept misjudging the distance between himself and Lieu, but, and this Amon realized with a frown, somehow he still landed hits. How? 

It was with a jolt he saw that Lieu was _letting_ him get hits in. He was drawing the fight out longer, allowing the other fighter to think he had a chance, to think they were more closely matched than they really were. The crowd believed it too, he could hear, believed this strange game Lieu was playing. 

Sea Raven won the round with a hit that should never have come close, to raucous cheering, and more money being turned over. There was a great deal of activity above them too, he saw. The tavern was a two story building, the first floor open space, the second just a wraparound balcony, so the patrons above could see the activity below without dealing with the mass of people. 

He spied Zolt, the man sitting at one of the tables, smoking a cigar. The man from before, Shin, was off to the side, leaning over the railing, watching with a scowl that didn't suit him. 

There was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind, as he watched them and his fighter. Something was going on here, something he couldn't see. What had Shin meant by _“too close”_? And what did Lieu mean by _“going right”_? 

Were they controlling the fight on purpose?

The next round went to Sea Raven too, and still, his fighter did not come back to him in the corner. He stayed in the ring, his shoulders stiff, expression clearly unhappy. The eighth looked like it was going to be a draw, but then his fighter somehow slipped out of the Sea Raven's hold, and took him down hard, maybe harder than he meant to, as the other fighter groaned in pain on the ground. 

In the balcony, Shin was leaning over in concern, but when Raven struggled to his feet after the round was called, he relaxed a little. 

Lieu was not looking up, but instead, cracking his neck. 

“We're in the home stretch, my good people!” The referee yelled, to the crowd. “For more rounds, and then we'll know who the better man really is,” he swung his arm out to his fighter, “This Mutt, some nobody from nowhere?” The crowd booed and cheered. “Or the Sea Raven?” More boos and cheers, as he heard snatches of sentences, their names tossed around. “Set one went to the Mutt!” Shouting, so much shouting he couldn't discern a single word. “Set two goes to the Sea Raven!” The noise grew in volume. “Who will win the third set, and take home the glory?!”

The crowd pushed at Amon, but he just dug himself in, as around him, yuan was waved and names were shouted, the observers placing their final bets. 

The _betting_. Were they controlling the fight to control the winnings? 

The ninth round was quick, the Sea Raven clearly on his last legs, at least to Amon's experienced and sober eyes. He wouldn't make it to the last round unless Lieu took it easy on him. 

And he was. 

The Sea Raven shouldn't have won, Amon knew that. Yet he did. 

The crowd was growing antsy, some desperate, hands on each other as they pressed in harder, hands on Amon, too many for him to shake off. 

Round ten went to Lieu, as it should have. But Amon could see it so clearly now, could see how he softened the blows, aimed for spots that would keep Sea Raven standing. Round eleven went to Lieu again, and around him, the crush of people seemed to take in one simultaneous breath. 

“This is it, folks!” The referee called. “Round twelve! Are we ready?!” The crowd roared in answer. “Fight!” He stepped back, and really, the Sea Raven was barely standing still. Lieu had hit him too hard, too many times. He was doing his best, trying to stay up, wanting to finish, Amon was sure, out of pride. But his pride was not enough to let him win. 

The fight ended with a barrage that took him down hard, his fighter winded from the exertion, but not excited. He had expected to win. 

Sea Raven coughed, and someone ducked under the ropes to help him up. Amon hoped he was a healer, or a medic, because the man needed one, badly, by this point. 

His fighter stood there, not smirking, not doing anything, as the referee declared him winner, and presented him with the purse. He was breathing heavy, twelve rounds a lot even for him, especially with the amount of hits he had taken. 

The ones he had let happen.

He still didn't come to Amon, just jumped the rope, and pushed his way through the congratulatory crowd, most moving aside for him, as he climbed the stairs to the balcony. 

He hadn't even acknowledged him. Why had he asked him here if he was going to take his bad mood out on Amon? 

He'd had enough. He slipped through the crowd, to the door, pulling his parka back on once he was outside. The temperature was good, eased the churning that all the smoke had caused in his stomach. He was thirsty too, his throat raspy after breathing in the thick air in there, but there was only dirty slush around, 

He chose a small stand not far from the tavern, and bought a cup of tea, sitting down to drink it, the hot cup warming his bare hands. He had forgotten his gloves in his rush, when he realized how late he had let it get while he had been praying, and hadn't noticed in his frantic search for the place. 

What had been the point? Their talk earlier led him to believe that whatever his fighter was in such a mood about, it had nothing to do with Amon. 

He hadn't liked being ignored by Lieu, hadn't liked how he'd seemed to look right through Amon. 

He wasn't sure how he felt about him cheating like he was, either. That seemed to be inviting trouble of the worst kind, if their little group was found out. Lieu was a great fighter, but he wasn't a bender, and Amon had no idea what kind of skills Zolt might have. The Water Tribesman hadn't looked like much either. 

All the worry was causing a knot in his stomach, as he drank his tea. 

“There a reason you didn't wait for me?” His fighter took the seat beside him. “First you're late, then you take off. That's a great way to piss me off.” 

Amon sighed, and refused to rise to the bait. “You were already angry about something, and it's not me. So don't even try.” 

His fighter frowned, then slumped over on the counter. “You tell me what to do a lot.” 

Amon took a sip of his tea. “You keep listening.” The cup was empty, but he couldn't justify purchasing a second cup. He really did need a new parka. “Besides, you like it.” He could vividly recall him saying so, as he held still within Amon. 

“Yeah.” He reached over, and tugged on Amon's hair, the knot of tension in his stomach unwinding at the familiar touch. “I do.” He seemed tired, and Amon took pity on him, leaning down so they could kiss. “Come home with me. I'll buy you dinner.” 

“I thought you wanted to show me something?” 

“You have to come with me.” He heaved himself up to his feet, seeming to take a lot of effort for such a small motion, and grabbed Amon by the elbow. 

On the corner sat one of the motorcycles he'd seen around the city. He glared at Lieu when he saw it, because no, just no. “That is not yours.” 

“Just got it yesterday.” He beamed with pride at the contraption. “Isn't she beautiful?”

Amon shook his head. “ _No._ ” 

“Don't be a brat.” His fighter said, one arm falling around his shoulders, so that his mouth was by Amon's ear. “C'mon, I bet you've never even been on one.” 

“I've never been bitten by a snake, either,” Amon protested, despite the way it felt, to have Lieu so close. “No, I will not, they're dangerous.” His fighter shook his head, and kissed Amon on the temple. 

“I'll be careful, I promise.” 

“You're lying.” He argued, even as he let the man guide him towards it. 

Lieu grinned. “You're still going to give in.” He swung a leg over, and waited. “C'mon. It'll be fun.” He pulled a pair of goggles out of his pocket, and put them on, adjusting the strap in his hair, while Amon cautiously got on behind him. “Put your hood up, and tighten it.” Carefully balancing himself on the toe of his boot, he did so, making sure to get all his hair inside, as Lieu did the same on his own parka. “Now put your arms around me, squeeze the sides with your legs, and move with me. And hold on tight.” 

Amon needed no direction on that part, as he gripped Lieu tight, and buried his face in the man's back. This was possibly the dumbest thing he'd ever done with this man, and that was saying something, he felt. “Be careful.” He begged, before Lieu started it, the engine loud. 

Under him, the whole machine vibrated, and his arms tightened at Lieu's waist, terrified of what was about to happen. 

Lieu backed the bike up with his feet, as Amon clung to him, trying not to shake, to remain calm. Then his fighter took off down the street, and all bets were off, as his heart stopped in his chest. He'd never moved so fast in all his life, as they navigated the streets of the city, rounding corners with soft, clean turns. 

After a few minutes of it, he dared to peek, then screwed his eyes up again. They were moving far too fast, he thought, as his stomach flipped. But now that he had seen, his curiousity was piqued, and he opened his eyes again, watching, for a minute. With his face against Lieu's back, he was shielded enough from the air rushing past them that he could observe, as the buildings turned into a blur, the people just glimpses of color. 

Swallowing, he looked up, as much as he could, at the stars overhead, at the street lamps turning into a dashes of light. It was pretty, he thought, even as they slowed to a stop behind another vehicle for a brief moment. 

They kept going, and slowly, his shoulders relaxed a bit, though he still held Lieu tight, still afraid. They finally came to a stop in front of Lieu's building, and with shaking legs, he got off. He felt oddly light, from his nerves, most likely, but he stayed standing, walking up the first flight of stairs as Lieu pushed the bike into a covered area beside the building. 

Instead of climbing the steps, Lieu jumped, and grabbed the railing, boosting himself up and over, to stand beside him at the top of the first flight, grinning. “Show off,” Amon muttered, even as he wrapped his arms around Lieu, let him pull him close in their first real kiss of the night. 

“Have to keep you interested somehow,” Lieu smirked, stealing another kiss. “What did you think of the bike?” Amon made a face, and Lieu's smirk changed to a smile. “You liked it, didn't you?” He refused to dignify that with an answer, not that he needed to, as Lieu's smile grew. He grabbed at Amon, tugging him in tight so he could attack his neck. 

“Lieu,” Amon protested. “Wait until I've healed you.” 

“Not until you admit it.” He demanded. “You had fun.” 

He let Lieu hold him, even as his kissing ceased, the man settling against Amon, his face buried in the crook of his neck. He hummed, a little, and before Amon could stop him, he was forcing them into a swaying kind of dance on the stairwell platform. He was surprised by himself, as he went along with it, his arms looping loosely around his fighter's shoulders, as Lieu drew away, to rest their foreheads against each other. 

Still humming, he led Amon in a circle, constrained by the small space. 

“I liked it.” He had, once he had opened his eyes. “Can you teach me how?” He needed to learn how to drive eventually, he suspected. It was a bad idea to be so ignorant over something that could be easily learned. 

“You really are after my heart, aren't you?” He teased, Amon's face flushing in the cold air. “You don't have to go after something you already have, you know.” Now he was really blushing, looking away from him. “You and me, we have something.” 

“I know.” He did, but he still pulled away, heading up the stairs. “Let me get you healed. He hit you in the ribs a few times, and your hands are all torn up again.” Not to mention the bruise forming on his face. 

“Fine.” His fighter followed, wincing a bit as they made their way up the flights, until they reached his door. 

In the apartment, Lieu turned on the radio, music this time, after he'd taken his coat and shirt off. Amon took care of him easily, nothing truly damaged. His knuckles were split in a few places, but that was about it. He'd taken care when wrapping them this time, unlike what had obviously been lack of caution the last time he'd done this. He still wondered about that fight, wondered why he had been so careless with his hands. 

When he was done, Lieu stood, and put his hands on Amon's waist. “Indulge me.” 

“You need a shower.” He protested, not putting up much of a real fight, as he rested his hands on the back of Lieu's neck. “You smell awful.” 

“I'll take a shower in a minute.” They swayed together, the music soft and low in the apartment, Amon resting his head against Lieu's shoulder as they did. “You could come with me.” 

“If I come with you, you won't get cleaned up.” He said, listening to the steady thud of his heartbeat. “You can wait.” 

“Hm,” Lieu hummed in resigned agreement. “I guess. Just a little longer.” Amon was loathe to protest, despite his objections, because this was nice. This was very nice. “I meant what I said, outside, you know. It's yours, if you want it.” It was awkward, showing that maybe he was just as much in uncharted territory as Amon was. 

He kissed Lieu's jaw, then his mouth, soft and careful. “Do you want mine?” He could barely raise his voice, nervous, but not in a bad way. 

“Yeah.” His fighter was taking this surprisingly seriously, considering it was him. “Okay.” Before he could kiss Amon again, he halted him with a hand against his chest. “What?”

“You really need a shower.” 

Lieu groaned, frustrated. “ _Fine_.” 

Once he was gone, Amon cleaned up the bowl of water he'd used, dumping it out the window, and then washing it out under the tap. He took off his boots, and set them by the door, with Lieu's, on a soft mat obviously meant to catch the water. After that, he pulled out his hair ties, and combed his fingers through it, catching on a few rough spots. Tomorrow was the day he needed to wash it again, so it was becoming a little troublesome. 

By the time he'd done that, Lieu was coming back in, clearly having rushed through the process. “Water won't heat.” He explained, when Amon raised an eyebrow. “I'm liable to lose some pretty important bits if I stay in long.” He scrubbed at his wet hair with a towel, but Amon took it from him, and bended the majority of the water out. It clung to Lieu's fine hair in a way it didn't with Amon's. “You're just full of uses, aren't you?” 

“Keep talking.” He encouraged, dryly. “You're doing so well at losing any sex you had a chance at getting.” 

Lieu laughed, and wrapped his arms back around Amon, trying to make him move in his idle attempt at dancing again. Amon let him, because, well, it was nicer now that he didn't reek of smoke and sweat, but soap. “How am I doing now?” He asked. 

“Better.” He praised, settling against him. “Much better.”

They were quiet for a minute, the music changing as they moved. 

“I'm heading out in two days.” Lieu said, after another song finished. “To see my family. You want to come meet them? It'll only be a day trip.” He was taking one of Amon's hands off his neck, intertwining their fingers as he pulled their hands out in a position Amon had seen other couples in. “I can teach you to ride a bit, out there.” 

“Do you want me to look at your mother?” He asked, wondering if maybe Lieu couldn't afford the healer this week. 

“You can. But that's not why I want you to come.” 

It took him a minute to realize what Lieu was implying, as they spun in a half circle, his fighter leading. He wanted him to meet his parents, and that, above any of his words, told Amon just how serious Lieu was about all of this. He was trying to show him that this wasn't a game, wasn't anything other than what he said it was. “Alright.” 

Lieu kissed his cheek, and spun them again, the floor cold under Amon's bare feet, Lieu warm against him. 

He expected a joke, a comment about what his chances were now, but Lieu said nothing, just held Amon close, as they kept up their made-up dance, not really changing, despite the songs doing so. The silence between them felt safe, warm, Lieu's arms a shelter, even now. 

“I love you.” He wasn't even sure Lieu heard him, but the way the arm on his waist tightened told him he had. He had already technically said it, he knew, but he still wanted to say the actual words, wanted Lieu to know for sure that Amon had stopped pretending at anything else, that he held everything he was in his hands, that Amon was choosing to believe that this was what he had been looking for, for so long. 

Someone he could trust. 

He kissed Amon, ducking down and catching his mouth, one soft kiss after another. 

They kept dancing, around the room, one rotation after another, even though his feet were cold. He didn't much mind.


	11. Interlude: Reza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lieu's mysterious bad mood is explained. We all hate to see our friends do things that will only end in their ruin. 
> 
> Reza knows he means well. But he can't help the way he watches Hwan, can't help but want all the things he has never had. 
> 
> (Lieu and Hwan both want to protect their friends, you know)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Another interlude, this one to give more of an outsider's perspective on Lieu and all the things Amon should suspect about him and his shifty friends.

Reza first lit a stick of incense, then a cigarette, inhaling deeply as he rolled his shoulders. Hwan had been serious about not smoking around him, and he was trying to respect that, but damn, he wasn't used to doing so much work without one to keep his head straight. 

Especially when it meant he was spending hours with Hwan, chewing on his braid as he carefully went over the bills for the house, punctuated with the occasional comment from his smart mouth. 

He flexed his right hand, feeling the stretch of the scars. Sometimes, like now, when he was concentrating on his cigarette, he almost felt the missing fingers again, curling against his palm. The healer had warned about that, had said that he might feel a phantom pain every now and then, but honestly, he barely noticed anymore. His hand was his hand. 

The incense was his own, not the weird, sweet stuff Hwan burned in his bedroom, and it covered up the smell of the cigarette better. He was sure the man would find something to complain about anyway. He always did. Reza felt like he could never do anything right, when it came to him. 

“You offering some prayers?” Lieu stepped out onto the porch, pulling out a cigarette of his own. Automatically, he made a small flame for him, and felt Lieu lean over to light his, before he sat down beside Reza. 

There was a fish pond, half frozen in the late autumn air, not a sign of the fish. Hwan had told him they burrowed down into the mud, in the cold, and wouldn't reappear until spring. The turtle ducks would come back around the same time. Until then though, it was just a circle of ice, mud, and dead plants. He got the impression Hwan missed the fish and the birds, from the melancholic way he'd said it, his hands tucked in his sleeves to keep them warm. 

“Hwan bitches about the cigarettes.” He said, falling backwards so that he was flat on his back, watching the rafters of the porch, his legs hanging off the side. He exhaled a stream of smoke, watched it cloud his vision, hanging in the cold air like fog. 

“Why do you care what a whore is bitching about?” Lieu fell back beside him, staying on his left side so that Reza could see him. 

He shook his head. “I'm not in the mood.” 

“He's using you. He's a manipulative little bastard, and he's going to do everything he can to get you wrapped around his finger.” Lieu exhaled as well, his smoke joining Reza's. 

Reza sighed, and closed his eye. “He doesn't even touch me.” Unless he was teasing, and Reza never let himself forget that. “Even he's not that good.” And Reza didn't particularly want to see that wall come up between them, as Hwan put aside his own disgust to please him. He wanted Hwan to keep looking at him like he did now, like Reza was amusing, but nothing to be feared.

The way he had _flinched_ , his arms coming up around himself protectively. Fuck, he never wanted Hwan to look at him like that again. 

“Shit, you really fucked yourself, didn't you?” Lieu was more perceptive than he let on, and Reza sometimes forgot that. 

He just took another drag, and shook his head. “Nothing to be done.”

“You could just screw him and get it out of your system.” He suggested. 

“I don't think that'll do it.” He felt Lieu look at him, even with his eye closed. He had gotten good at telling when people were watching him without seeing them do it, ever since he'd lost half his vision, and was forced to have a side blind. “Thought you were going to see that piece of tail you've been chasing?”

“He has to study. Don't change the subject.” Lieu said. “Are you serious about this?” 

“Let it go.” Like Reza was trying to let it go, trying to get the image of Hwan with his hair loose out of his head, trying not to think about how he would feel against him. Everything about him looked soft, probably felt soft, and Reza had never had anything like that in his whole life. 

Truth was, Hwan wouldn't have looked twice at him before the scars anyway. His face had been perfect for Triad work, because no one could ever really pinpoint anything interesting enough to remember about him. He had been a ghost. 

He was still a ghost. 

Lieu sat up, pulling a knee up so he could slouch over it. “Just sell him, or something. He's got to be worth a lot, by now.” 

“He's not a thing.” Reza switched his cigarette to his bad hand, and rubbed his face with the heel of good one. “Don't ask me to treat him like one.” 

“He's just a whore.” He dismissed. “Just a whore with a mouth. Catty little thing, too.” 

“You're just pissed that he's a little quicker than you.” Lieu didn't like that someone he saw as so inferior was probably just as clever as he was. If his paperwork was any indication, Hwan was utterly wasted as an 'entertainer'. “He's more like a fox, anyway.” Quick and sharp, with a glint in his eyes that Reza only saw when they were alone. 

Lieu was watching him with something almost pitying in his face. The man sighed a cloud of smoke, and tapped his cigarette against the edge of the porch. “Reza, you're just setting yourself up for trouble.” He said, more to the empty pond than to him. “He's a whore. The only thing he loves is himself and money.” 

He took a drag, and exhaled. “I'm not in the mood for a lecture.” 

“He's nothing, is what I'm telling you. A nice face in pretty clothes.” Reza listened without a reaction, choosing to smoke, and think. “Don't start to think there's any substance in there. I'm not going to sit and watch you get all fucked up over some whore.” 

“Then don't.” He replied, tired. He was always tired, lately, his body unable to adjust to these strange hours he'd been sleeping, to this foreign place. He couldn't relax, even when sleeping, and now his shoulder was giving him pain for it. “I told you, I'm not in the mood, alright? Go play with that damn bike, go fuck your little toy, go knock someone around, just leave me alone until you can mind your own business.” 

Lieu huffed, and shoved at him half-heartedly. “I have to go to my match. I'll come by tomorrow, alright?” 

“Fine.” 

The other lieutenant got to his feet, and went back in the tea house. Reza stayed outside, for longer than he should have. He could feel his bad arm tightening up from the cold, headed well towards painful later. He'd regret this then, would curse himself for his inability to accept how his body had changed. He needed to.

He liked the cold though, liked how it made his skin buzz, how it burned his lungs. It made him feel awake. 

The sun set, as he sat out and smoked, and eventually, he gave in, going inside. He hadn't called for anyone to light the hibachi, and the servants had learned quickly to stay out of his area unless invited. There wasn't any charcoal kept in the room either, so he couldn't do it himself, like he preferred. 

In the hallway, he found a servant, wearing the plain brown and white robes they all did, to distinguish them from the more brightly dressed entertainers and performers. Within a few minutes, the hibachi was stacked and lit, and he managed to convince them to leave a covered basket of coal behind, spread on plain sheet to keep the dust off the mats. He couldn't see any, even as he lit the lights in the room, but he was sure Hwan would be able to. 

Said man appeared in the doorway, clad in muted gold and cream today. It made him look even softer, so Reza looked his fill, as he shut the door, and came to kneel at the table with him. “Why is it so cold in here? You never keep the hibachi lit, do you?” Hwan was always cold, it seemed. “Is that a firebender thing?”

“It's a me thing.” He replied. “I like cold.” Hwan raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not accepting that alone. “And yes, firebenders have a higher body temperature. Cold doesn't bother us as much.” 

“Oh, the benefits of being a bender.” Hwan mused aloud, going over the receipts from a party that had been hosted last night. They had drunk enough of their liquor that Hwan was writing down a new order for the house manager. 

They had drunk enough that one had clearly not understood Hwan's 'no', in the hallway. He had wrapped his damn arms around Hwan, tried to kiss his neck, as Hwan tried to refuse him. 

The possessiveness that had flared in him, that had made him get the man off him with more force than necessary, had yet to fade. Even now, as he watched him idly chew on his braid, such a weird habit, the urge to touch was almost overwhelming. 

Almost.

They finished the papers, but Hwan lingered. “What?” He asked. 

“You should sleep in my room tonight. It's been a few days. There's been gossip already.” He brushed his braid over his shoulder. “You probably don't want to know it. But you should sleep with me tonight.” 

He looked at the table, and sighed. “Fine.” 

In Hwan's room, he watched him go about his routine, changing behind a painted screen, thankfully. He wasn't sure he could stand the sight of Hwan undressing in front of him, could keep his hands to himself when he saw his skin. 

Hwan would let him, too. If Reza asked, he would give, would let him touch all of that soft skin. 

He wouldn't ask though,would he? 

As Hwan brushed his hair out in front of his dressing table, he took his indoor shoes off, then his shirt. It made him groan, his bad arm protesting the movement now that it had stiffened up, and the sound caught the other man's attention. “What's wrong?” When Reza looked at him, his eyes had widened. “Oh.” 

It was a reaction to the combination, Reza suspected. The burns on his right arm and shoulder, and the tattoos that covered him. His suit was nearly complete, or rather, had been, before. He had never finished his vest. The right side had been completed, right before, and then he had needed to wait for healing, when it had been destroyed, cursing the ruined ink and skin every day. So his left pectoral was still blank, that side of his stomach still just pale skin. 

“My arm hurts.” He admitted, just to get his eyes off Reza's back. He may be used to being stared at, but Reza wasn't, and he didn't like it. 

“From sitting out in the cold?” There was that tone he knew so well, and that half-smirk. “Sit down, you idiot.” 

Reza obeyed, sitting on the bed. He chose the right side, so that his left would remain turned towards Hwan when he slept. He hated the idea of the man waking up to his bad side. 

The bed dipped behind him, as Hwan settled there. His hair was pushed over his shoulder, to hang across his chest, as Hwan's hands touched him, at the edge of his shoulder blade, where the damage started on that side. “Sit still for me.” He directed. As though Reza had any intention of moving away from him, not when he was touching Reza of his own free will. 

He was using lotion, something plain, gently rubbing it in to the tight muscles and scarring. It hurt more, at first, but that was always how it was, before it started to feel good. He let his head hang forward, as the soft hands moved down his arm, the body behind him shifting so that he was on Reza's bad side. That way, he had a better angle to work with, as he let Reza's bad hand rest on a pillow in his lap while he did so. 

Reza wished he could see him, could see the angles of his face in the soft light as he bowed his head over Reza's arm. He gave in, after a moment, turning his head so he could.

Hwan's hair looked soft to the touch now, no longer silky. He hadn't been straightening it anymore, choosing to wear it more naturally, and as such, it now reminded him of cotton, light and wispy. Without any of the stuff he used to darken his lashes, they were a dark brown against his skin, his eyes half-closed as he concentrated. 

He felt Reza's eye on him, and glanced up. “What?” 

He looked ethereal, like this. A fox-spirit wearing a man's face, come to taunt him. He wanted to ask if he could kiss him, could affirm that he was real, that he was more than light and silk, spun out of a dream. 

He would say yes, Reza reminded himself. He would say yes, but he wouldn't mean it. 

“You're beautiful.” There was no point in not saying it, no point in denying what Hwan likely already knew. He hadn't bothered to hide his attraction in awhile now. 

He seemed startled by the admission, blinking a little quickly, but then he turned his eyes back down to Reza's hand, working the lotion into his scarred palm. “Are you trying to charm your way into my bed?” He teased slyly.

“No.” He would never even try. What chance did he have of Hwan ever taking him seriously? He'd always just be the Triad thug who had offered protection in exchange for work. The one forcing him into a situation he had no desire to be in. “You just are.” 

“You're ridiculous.” He said quietly, as he finished, and moved again, coming back behind Reza, to bring his hair over his shoulder, and undo the tie holding it. “Baraz is beautiful. I'm interesting.” 

No one had ever brushed Reza's hair, not in any memory he could dredge up. He supposed his governess had, when he was small, but his father had sent her away when he was young. It was nice, soothing. Hwan was only being nice, in these small kindnesses he showed Reza, but he had experienced little of it, in his life, little enough that what Hwan gave him was like water to a man dying of thirst. 

“I don't need you to take care of me.” He said, instead of any of that. “I can brush my own hair.” 

“Not very well.” Hwan replied. “In any case, this is something I'm supposed to do for you.” He paused. “You don't want me, so I can't give you that. Let me at least do this.” He was braiding Reza's hair again, as he spoke. “Besides, I want to.” 

Reza was silent, not wanting to read more into that than what was intended. 

“You protect me.” He continued, his voice low. “Like you did last night. From Jin. From everyone.” He tied the end of the braid, and then looped it up. “Let me take care of you, in return.” 

There was nothing to say to that, except, “Alright.” 

He could feel his fingertips against the back of his neck, touching the tattoo that rested just below the collar of his shirt. “You were in prison.” He knew what the blue chrysanthemum inked there meant. 

“Are you surprised?”

“No.” He needed to stop touching Reza, needed to stop tempting him beyond what he was able to resist. “How old were you?”

“Sixteen. Did two years.” He didn't want to talk about what for, and Hwan didn't ask. He didn't ask about the scars either, he noticed, despite the curiousity that had to be there. 

He finished with Reza's hair, and then made to stand, but Reza stopped him. “You turning out the light?”

“Yes.” With only a little effort, he forced the flame in the lamp out, shrouding them in darkness. “You're a master firebender, aren't you?” In the dark, he could just see the outline of Hwan's face, from the moonlight coming through the door that led to the balcony. Hwan had a painted screen in front of it, probably to keep the cold out, but it still let light in. “Only the ones with good control can suppress flame like that.” 

“Yeah.” He lay back, getting himself under the sheets and quilt. Hwan's bed was more comfortable than the futon he'd been sleeping on downstairs, and that, combined with Hwan's ministrations, set his mind more at ease. He found his eyes closing, and staying that way. 

He woke with the room bright, Hwan brushing his hair in front of the mirror. 

“What time is it?” 

“Late.” He said, sounding cheery. “You were tired, I suppose. I had them bring breakfast up.” 

He got out of bed, almost reluctantly, and left the room, so he could go to the bathroom on the floor. Along the way back, he passed the little Water Tribesman with the big eyes, who blinked at him like a puppy caught chewing a shoe. “Good morning, Reza.” He managed, in a small voice. 

He nodded at the kid, who scurried past him without touching him. When he went back into Hwan's room, he was watching him with an amused look. “What?”

“Are you aware you don't have a shirt on?” Oh, right. That was why the kid had looked like that. The tattoos and the scars were a lot to take in. “Who did you traumatize?”

“The Water Tribe kid. The puppy.” 

“Taruk?” Hwan laughed. “Oh, that poor boy.” He was still brushing his hair out, the screen folded back so that the light came through the panels of the doors. “That ink is a little much, first thing in the morning. Especially for him.” 

“Even for you?” He asked, sitting down at the table. He had ordered them coffee and tea, chai, to go with their food. 

“You don't scare me, Reza.” Hwan finished brushing his hair, binding it together halfway down, then joined him at the table. “You'll have to leave that to Lieu.” 

Reza frowned. “Lieu scares you?” 

“He scares everyone.” He said, as he poured tea for Reza. “He's intense, and not in a good way. It's creepy. I always feel like I'm one word away from him snapping my neck.” He frowned, as he added milk without being asked. “If Zolt asked him to, he would.”

“Zolt and Lieu wouldn't do that to me.” Zolt especially, who owed him still. He would never take something Reza wanted. And Lieu was his friend, just as loyal to Reza as he was to Zolt. “So don't worry about it.” 

“So nice to know my life depends on your favor.” He poured himself some coffee. “He really is dangerous. Don't think I don't know that.” 

“I never said he wasn't.” He found his shirt, and put it on, covering his ink and some of his scars. When he sat back down, Hwan had already begun to eat, ha gao, his favorite. Reza liked water chestnut cake, but the kitchen didn't make it often. He was surprised to see it, but pleased. 

As he ate, he thought about what Hwan had said about Lieu. It was on his third cup of tea, as Hwan stacked the dishes on a tray to put out in the hallway, that he said something. “You know I'm dangerous too.” 

The other man put the tray out, then slid the door shut. “You said you wouldn't hurt me.” He said, not looking at him. “I trust you.” 

Reza studied him with his good eye, as he sat back down across from him. His hair, lit by the morning sunlight, the smooth column of his neck, the willowy lines of his body, hidden by his clothing. “You shouldn't.” He said at last, and took another sip of his tea. “We're not that different.”


	12. Shadows settle on the place, that you left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amon makes a real decision about his gift, and fixes a wrong from the past. The sins of the father are not the sins of the son though, and Amon is no exception. Someone finally helps him realize that, just a little. That doesn't mean he can't make amends though. 
> 
> But just because Amon is being offered forgiveness, doesn't mean others so easily receive it. They're all running from something. Maybe some didn't run far enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Criticism please. 
> 
> So, wow. When I sat down and reworked this, it got a lot longer. Like, a lot. Hopefully, this is much better to all. I'm much happier with it, but if you hate it, please say so. In other critiques, point out my bad grammar and such, as always. I'll do my best to fix mistakes.

Amon was still half-asleep, despite being dressed and mostly packed, when the knock came at his door. “Come in,” he called, quietly, though his roommate was gone, the other man on swing shift. He honestly couldn't bear the sound of his voice right now, he was still so tired.

It slid open to show Pasook, the circles under the man's eyes dark from his own exhaustion. “Hey,” he yawned, peering at Amon curiously. “Where are you off to today?” 

He had apparently pulled himself out of bed, just to speak to Amon. That had to mean something important then.

It had been a difficult two days since Lieu had invited him out. There had been an accident at the waterworks factory, and every clinic within range had been full of injured, for both immediate care, and afterward. Amon wasn't sure he had slept for a whole three hours together at any point, surviving on cat naps and a strong supplement that Kanna had distributed among them, until his hands had shook from it. Not that it was just the healing that had worn him out, he thought guiltily, turning to his friend.

Pasook might not have been as talented as Amon, or even Penna, but he had a better bedside manner than anyone. He had spent the past forty-eight hours calming patients and their spouses, keeping the waiting room under control, and helping the rest of them keep their sanity. They all deserved some sleep, but Pasook especially. His voice had been almost gone by the time they'd managed to crawl into bed sometime between midnight and dawn this morning, he had talked to so many people.

So this was no idle social call.

Amon stretched, trying to get his blood flowing, so he could be more awake. “I'm going on a day trip. I should be back by late tonight.” The sun was just barely peeking over the buildings now, the morning fog refusing to dissipate under its weak light. “Why?” 

“Just asking.” He said, with a shrug, as he leaned on the door frame, blinking heavily with weariness. “You going with your guy?”

“Yes.” He answered, checking his supply bag one last time. 

He had everything he needed, he thought, even as his heart beat an unsteady rhythm in his chest. He couldn't believe what he was seriously contemplating, what he had practiced in every spare second he had these past few days. Feeling the blood flowing through his patients' veins, their heartbeats, the swell of blood as they breathed, the way it thinned as it reached the heart.

Even now, he could feel Pasook with just a little effort, without him even noticing. It was amazing, really, when he actually took the time to notice the delicate intricacies of the circulatory system. So much going on, without them ever noticing. 

It had been as much to prove a point to the world at large as it was to prove a point to himself. He could use his bloodbending for something other than pain, for something good. This was why the spirits had allowed their father's evil to pass to him and Tarrlok. They had a purpose for him. Maybe it had even been meant for his father, before he had manipulated it for his own selfish gain.

But he was not Yakone, he reminded himself fiercely. He was who he had made himself. Not Noatak, not a name given to him by that man, but Amon. A healer, one who wore both Mark of the Wise and Mark of the Trusted. He was trusted. His patients trusted him to use every bit of his gift to help them.

He had to try. He had to try to fix the things his father had broken with the spirits' gift, and that had to start today. Maybe this was part of the reason he had been led to his fighter, so he could right a great wrong done to his family by Amon's own. 

There was a great symbolism to them, if that was true. The sons of the enemies uniting in such a way had the ring of a story to it, if he had been anything like Tarrlok, with his more fanciful thoughts. 

“Hey, um,” Pasook snapped him out of his sleepy half-thoughts, seeming to really want something, but Amon couldn't fathom what. “Did you know, Yasu has a tattoo?”

He nodded. “I saw it by accident.” Better not to lie, to tell as much of the truth as possible.

The other healer scratched at his neck, where there was a red mark from his own nails. He had a bad habit of scratching himself raw when he was anxious. “Do you know what it means?”

“Do you?” It was not his place to tell if Pasook didn't know, but the familiar nervous gesture made him think he knew very well what the phoenix meant, maybe better than Amon. 

Pasook stepped in to the shadowed room, and quietly closed the door. Without turning to face Amon, he rested his forehead against it. “He was in the Agni Kai.” A somber tone that was rather unlike Pasook, even when he was upset. “Do you know how you get those tattoos?” He didn't wait for Amon to answer. “You earn them. Whenever you do something to make the big boss happy, you earn a new one. They all mean different things.” 

He didn't continue, but he clearly had more to say, so Amon prompted, just as quietly, “What does a phoenix mean?”

His friend bit his lip, then smiled, but his eyes were wet. “Agni Kai earn the phoenix when they kill someone. With their bending.”

He regretted asking the minute he heard the words. This was Yasu's secret, his burden to bear, and it had not been offered to Amon. He had no right to know this. 

But then, how did Pasook know? 

He didn't have to ask, in the end, because Pasook kept talking, now without any sort of urging from Amon. The words tumbled out, not like a breaking dam, all in one rush, but a stream over a waterfall, steady and constant. “My father is in the Red Monsoon Triad. He's called a 'sergeant'. Know what that means? His job is to go find people who haven't paid their dues to the Triad, and hurt them until they do. Sometimes he breaks their fingers. Sometimes he takes their kids, holds them hostage. He's got tattoos all over his arms. Because see, the boss really likes my dad.” He still wouldn't face Amon as he spoke. “The first bending my dad tried to teach me was his favorite way to torture someone. He fills their lungs with water, then takes it back out. Over and over.” 

There was a short silence, and then: “He tried to make me do it to my pet sparrowkeet.” A bark of laughter that was very unlike Pasook, followed by, “I was six.”

Amon wondered if now was the time to share something of himself, to tell Pasook that his father was awful too, that they had more in common than Amon would ever have thought, but...he didn't. The words would not form in his mouth, for more than one reason. This was Pasook's time to talk, for the first. For the second, well, he just didn't want anyone in the clinic to know, ever. Not even Kanna.

He turned back around, still leaning on the door, like he was too tired to support his own weight alone. 

“What am I supposed to do with that?” He demanded, and with that, Amon realized he was _afraid_. Of his father, of himself, and of Yasu. “He sat down and told me, Amon. He looked me right in the eye and told me had done something horrible, like if he acknowledged it, I had to forgive him. Like that makes it better.” He shook his head. “Why would he tell me that?”

“Because he trusts you,” Amon said, snapping his bag closed. “He trusted you enough to tell the truth, before you found out from somewhere else. Wouldn't you have been angrier if he didn't?”

“I'm going to be pissed off either way.” Pasook replied. “I mean, spirits, he's so,” he bit his lip. “I _like_ him. I have for awhile. Everyone does, I know, but I like him more, and... _fuck_ , it's not fair. He's nice, and there aren't a lot of guys like that. And he never, I mean, don't get me wrong, I _know_ I'm kind of a moron, but Yasu's never treated me like I am.” He shrugged. “I like that.” 

He felt guilty now, for how quickly he had snapped at Pasook in the past. He had never seemed to be insulted by it, had been just as quick to snap back at him and Penna, but maybe it had dug in a little more than Amon had intended it to. “You're not useless.” He said. “Or really that much of a moron.” 

Pasook smiled. “Yeah I am. I'm alright with it. People like me have to be around so people know how impressive people like you are.” Amon cringed, feeling it to be an insult, but Pasook just kept smiling. “Someone's got to follow the leader, you know. I'm okay with being a follower.” He seemed genuine about it, but it still made Amon feel uncomfortable. He didn't like the idea of being a leader, of people turning to him like that.

His friend swallowed, sobering again. “I _really_ like him.”

“Then like him.” Amon said, with a determined air, as he got his parka off the hook. “He's not that person anymore. You know that. We all do.” Because if Yasu couldn't be someone else, if he couldn't be allowed forgiveness for his past sins, none of them could. Penna, and Hwan, they had both said they were all running from something. If someone like Yasu, kind and well-meaning, couldn't be forgiven for his mistake, one he seemed to regret with all his heart, from the way he had been so afraid when Amon had seen that phoenix, than what hope was there for Amon? Amon, whose crime had been a circumstance of birth? Yue's forgiveness had eased his heart, but that didn't alleviate his terror at anyone else finding out. 

If Pasook couldn't forgive Yasu, he would never forgive Amon. A few weeks ago, he would have been able to lie to himself, and say Pasook's opinion meant nothing to him, but the thought of going through his days and nights at the clinic without the other healer's almost overbearing personality and overt friendliness was a future he didn't like. 

“He killed someone.” Pasook repeated, still sounding a little shocked. “ _Yasu_. He doesn't even step on bugs. What does that mean?” 

“It means that we all do things we regret. He can't bring them back.” Amon replied, feeling a kind of secondhand regret for Yasu's crime. “You can't undo death. Not even the Avatar can do that. But he's here. He's trying.” _We're all trying._ “Kanna saw something in him worth salvaging. And you like him. So try to keep seeing what she saw.” _Try to see that past wrongs can be righted. Try to not hate us._

Pasook still looked unsure, but then, without warning, he stepped forward and hugged Amon.

The thing was, he had never really had a friend, before Republic City. There had only been Tarrlok, and after a time, he hadn't even wanted Tarrlok to touch him. He hadn't wanted anyone to touch him. It had been so much easier to close around himself and block the world out. If no one could get in, no one could make him feel how his father made him feel. 

When his fighter had grabbed him, held him in that lock in the middle of the street, that had been the most intimate touch he'd experienced in almost two years. Hwan's kiss never counted, the gesture meant to unnerve, not show genuine feeling.

So he supposed he could be forgiven, for standing so awkwardly, as his friend hugged him, in the middle of his room. But then his hands came up, and he hugged him back, because Pasook needed it, and Amon wanted to help him. And the thing was, that if no one could hurt him, no one could comfort him either, could give him affection, could care. 

The other man held him, for a good few minutes, shaking, but not crying. “My mom won't leave my dad, no matter what he does, and I hate her for it.” He whispered it like he hated himself a little too. “What if he's just like my dad, and I end up just like her?”

_We're all running from something._

“Yasu isn't your father.” He said, pulling back. Pasook and him were of a height, so they were eye to eye as they spoke. “He's himself. And you're not your mother.” Now it was him who swallowed, the lump in his throat painful. He thought of Tarrlok all the time, but it was rare he ever considered his mother anymore. 

Had she mourned him?

“Yeah.” Pasook nodded, and used his sleeve to wipe his face. “Yeah, you're right. I'm not them. Because if he gets like that, and I won't leave, you'll knock some sense into my head, right?”

Amon shrugged. “Penna will get there before me.” 

His friend laughed, falling forward so that his head was on Amon's shoulders. “Yeah, she would. First she'd beat Yasu, then me, right?” 

He weighed the hypothetical situation for a moment before answering. “I think I would get yelled at too, for not interfering.” The thought of Penna's face brought a small laugh up out of his throat, and Pasook reeled back as best as he could, in his tired state. 

“Did you just laugh?” He demanded, looking suitably shocked. “So, you're not a golem after all.” 

“Not a _what_?” He had never heard the word before, but he could guess at it not being a compliment. 

“Uh, well,” 

A motorcycle roared outside, saving Pasook from answering, and the two drew apart. Amon went to his window, seeing his fighter's familiar frame sitting on his new machine. “I need to go.” He said, looking at Pasook over his shoulder. “My friend is here. Are you alright?” 

The other nodded. “Yeah, yeah I think...I guess. I don't know.” He had started wearing his hair in a high double braid, no more side tails, and now he reached up to tighten them. “I want this to work. I want to go out with him again. I just don't know if I'm supposed to trust him or not.”

“He wanted you to know. He didn't lie to you.” He could guess how the story came out, and he could respect Yasu for that, for not wanting that kind of lie between them when something like that had been shared. “So you have to give him credit for that.” 

“I know.” He said. “He told me before, well, you know, before anything happened.” Before sex then. Yasu really had done things right. “I just...the Triads, you know?” 

“I know.” The Triads were like pipes, in all the books he had read. Pipes in a building. Never seen, but part of the structure, controlling vital things, like water and heat. So few knew how they worked, knew how important they were, but those that did knew that they controlled quite a bit of everyone's comfort. From what he had read, the Triads had cropped up very quickly, in the city. They had immediately established themselves in the sector Hwan worked in, and several others, enough to make sure they had continuous income, and a way to pull the strings of those in charge.

Because who knew your worst secrets better than the person you were paying for sex? All those jokes Hwan made, those offhand comments, how easily could they be turned against someone in power, used for blackmail? 

“So you think I should try? With Yasu?” Pasook was depending on his answer, he realized. He was trusting Amon's advice. 

That was a little intimidating.

“I think you should trust Kanna's judgment. She thought Yasu was a good person.” She had thought Amon was too. He had to believe Kanna knew what even they didn't. “She thought you were too.”

“Right.” Pasook nodded. “Right.” He looked like how Amon felt right now, that mix of desperation and hope.

The engine was still humming outside, Lieu waiting, so Amon pulled his parka on, and put his bag over his shoulder. “I think Yasu is trustworthy.” He hoped he was, at the very least. “And I think you should try with him. He's not your father. None of us are our parents. We just can't be.” He was going to prove that today, wasn't he? 

They stepped out into the hallway, Amon intending on leaving, but Pasook stopped him, a hand on his arm, keeping him close. Closer than Amon was used to being still, his determined face more than Amon could face. He looked ahead. “You're not yours, either, you know. Your parents. Whoever they are, whatever they did, that's not you. You're an uptight, self-righteous brat who makes the rest of us look bad because he takes extra shifts and studies all the damn time. Okay? That's who you are.”

Embarrassed, because somehow, none of it sounded like abuse. It had been said with a fierce affection he had no right to ask for, but grabbed at, holding on hard. Because none of that sounded like his father, not one bit. “Thank you.” 

Pasook grabbed him around the shoulders in a tight embrace that he returned. “And you're a nationalist idiot who talks too much.” He said. “But you would never hurt anyone. Not even a stupid bird.” 

“Hey,” Pasook protested. “Bao Bai was really smart. He could do tricks.” 

“Bao Bai?” He asked, incredulous. 

“I was four, okay?” He pushed away from Amon, shoving at his shoulder companionably. “Who lets a four-year-old name a pet?” 

He was indisputably done now, from the way his eyes were half-closed, so Amon stepped away, adjusting his bag. He had slung it crosswise today, since he was going to be on the bike, and he didn't like how the strap was hitting his neck. 

Without saying anything, Pasook adjusted Amon's parka, sliding the strap under the fold of the hood so that it stayed in place. “Have fun. I'm going back to bed.” 

He made sure Pasook made it inside, first. Then he hurried down the steps, and outside, where his fighter was waiting, still on the bike, his goggles up on his forehead, hood down. His breath was visible in the morning cold, the chinook around his neck hanging loose still. 

When he saw Amon, he grinned. “Morning.” He said, holding out an arm. Amon stepped into it without thinking twice, cupping his face between his hands so they could kiss. “Good morning, then?” 

“I'm spending the day with you.” He answered, glad he'd left the gloves off, that he could feel Lieu under his cold hands. He was cold too, the wool of the chinook soft against his hands as he kissed him again. “So yes.” 

“You know I'm going to hold you to that 'learning to ride' thing, right?” The hand on Amon's side left the handlebar to settle on the small of his back. “Have to say, you do pretty well at it. You know what they say though, practice makes perfect.” 

His leer let Amon know there was a meaning other than riding a motorcycle there, and it took him only a minute. It said something about his current waking state, that he couldn't even dredge up the energy it took to be annoyed with him. “You'll have to wait until we get back, for that kind. I'm not having sex with you anywhere near your parents' house.” 

“Are you serious?” Lieu asked, as he got on behind him, making sure his bag was secure and pulling his hood up, tightening the strings. Once he had his gloves on, he made sure the edges were under his sleeves, to keep the cold from racing up them. 

“Completely.” He said, meaning every word of it. There were things he just couldn't do. His fighter only huffed dramatically, then set himself to rights. “You'll live.” The motor grew louder, as Lieu did something he couldn't understand with the toggle on the handlebars. 

“I'll have to take your word for it, healer.” Lieu replied, shouting to be heard over the motor and through his chinook, while toeing off from where he was parked by the sidewalk. Amon wrapped his arms tight around him, burying his face in his back to keep his face shielded, as they took off, into the brightening morning sunshine. 

He hadn't been beyond the city limits since he'd come here, and had never been north of the city at all. He'd stuck to the coastline and ships during his entire trip south, far too afraid to go inland. He hadn't been away from the ocean once in his whole life, and to lose that, along with everything else, had been more than he could bear. 

Now he was finally going inland, and it was to do something he would have loved to have the ocean nearby for. He needed any security he could get, for what he was about to attempt. If there was any justice in the world, it would work. His control was perfect, had been perfect for years. He was a great healer. 

He could do this. Intellectually, he was sure of that. 

Emotionally was another story, but he needed to separate himself from those feelings, clear his mind. He needed to be focused, and emotions made a person clumsy, made them make mistakes. Anyone trained for a fight knew that. The one with an untroubled mind was the one who won. 

He opened his eyes, peeking out from under the fur of his hood. The buildings were thinning out around them, houses with front gardens. He closed his eyes again, sleepier than he had thought. The motor was oddly soothing, his fighter's breath and heartbeat reminding him of beds and sleep. It was too dangerous to sleep here, but he fell into a gentle half-state between waking and rest as they rode, making sure to keep his hands firmly clasped around Lieu's waist as he did so. 

It was no different than his periods of rest on a hard shift, leaning against the wall, letting his mind clear. 

Like then, he needed to center himself. Eight second inhale, twelve second exhale. Over and over, until his heartbeat was as steady as his fighter's. Until all he could feel was their blood, running through their veins, expanding and retracting. 

His fighter had said that Amon had his heart, and he had returned the sentiment. So the heartbeat under his hands, was it as much his own as the one in his chest? He could feel it through his hands, even with the layers of cloth between them, but he pressed his head harder against Lieu's back, so he could think of when they were in bed, his head on Lieu's shoulder, safe. The safest he'd ever felt in his life.

When he opened his eyes again, there were trees, large expanses of farmland. They were outside the city now, and he was the farthest he'd ever been from the ocean. That was alright though. He had his fighter here. 

The motorcycle slowed to a stop at a gathering of buildings, his fighter turning the bike off. “We can get something to eat here, if you're hungry?” He probably was. It seemed like he was always hungry. 

Amon nodded, and got off, stretching. There was a restaurant, larger than what he had thought to expect, but he supposed with this being a main road, they had a lot of travelers stopping here. The food was only Earth Kingdom though, and he found himself disappointed. He had gotten used to the variety in the city. 

At least they had coffee.

Once they were back on the bike, he felt awake enough to pay more attention to his surroundings.

Going by this fast, the world looked different. He could still make out the trees, the people working in the fields, despite the weather, but everything was more an impression, not a detailed picture. He wondered what the people were doing, at this time of year. Were there still crops to be gathered, this late? His village had been hunters and gatherers. There wasn't a lot of farming, in the North Pole, and definitely not where he had been. 

He thought of Pasook, after a time, when he thought he was calm enough. He'd had no idea about his friend's father, not one inkling. Pasook had never let on, not even by mistake, that his past was just as unsavory as the rest of theirs. Maybe he wasn't as much a moron as he thought, if he had been able to keep it all so well hidden. Amon knew, by which he meant he was very sure, that Penna at least had her own demons, and Yasu obviously did as well. But Pasook had never raised that suspicion, not once.

Penna had never hidden that there was something unpleasant in her past though. She of course kept it to herself, never talked about how exactly she had sustained those awful burns up her legs, but he had always known it had to be something she never wanted to revisit. The way she she neatly jumped from the unscarred portion of her life to the scarred, without a detail between told that much. Sometimes, he even wondered if Penna had been entirely innocent in how it happened. 

Pasook though, he had seemed for all the world like-

A niggling voice in his head caught his attention, brought back a recent memory.

Pasook had said he was the first bender in three generations, in the library. He had lied to them, and hadn't even blinked. How long had he been telling that story? Longer than Amon had been telling his, for sure.

He had seemed deathly afraid to admit it, acknowledge who his father was. Amon could definitely relate to that feeling, especially today. 

He was choosing not to speculate on what he had learned about Yasu. It was none of his business. He wouldn't want Yasu thinking about his past, his crimes. 

The bike began to slow, as they made their way down a side road of the village they had entered. This had to be their destination then. His heartbeat started to pick back up in a mix of dread and anticipation. He was tempted to forget this whole idea, go about this visit like it was just what Lieu thought it was. He easily could. 

Except he really couldn't.

They stopped outside a small, traditional house with a front garden that included a water feature, unsurprisingly. It was just a small fountain, with a waterfall, the water sourcing from an underground system he could just barely feel the edges of. 

His fighter kicked the stand down, and balanced, pushing his hood down, and his goggles off. His hair was a mess, and he had the red imprints from them around his eyes. “My childhood home,” Lieu swept his arm out to encompass it, as Amon pushed his own hood back. “Kind of small, I know.” 

Amon dismounted, and stretched, wishing his back would crack. “I grew up in igloos and tents made of animal skins.” 

Lieu made a face. “Point taken.” 

“Where are your parents?” _Where is your mother?_ The sooner he got this over with, the better he would feel. As it stood, the fact his hands were still steady was amazing to him. 

“Lurking.” Lieu had just stepped off the bike, when Amon's question was abruptly answered. A man who could be no one other than Lieu's father appeared out of nowhere from behind the man, to pull him in for a hug that looked like it was choking his fighter. 

“My boy!” He crowed. “There you are! Was beginning to think you'd gotten lost again!”

“One time, Dad! Let it go!” Lieu struggled half-heartedly against him, as his father refused to release him, laughing as he pulled his son closer. “Dad, come on, don't start this shit with me!”

“What's wrong, can't take your old man?” The man teased, in a manner that was oddly familiar, as his fighter struggled. “Come on boy, I taught you better than that!” 

“Mom taught me how to fight, you delusional old goat dog!” 

There was a clacking sound from behind Amon, and when he turned, he saw a woman a little shorter than him, Water Tribe, leaning heavily on a cane. 

He didn't know what he had been expecting, when he thought of his fighter's mother. She was a strongly-built woman though, her hair in a traditional braided loop style, with one blue clay ornament. Oddly though, instead of something honoring the Tui or La, it had a shining sun carved in the center. 

His heart threatened to stop, as he looked at her, his mouth dry. This was who his stomach had twisted itself up for, this was who he owed his debt to. This small woman, watching the two men tussle in a tiredly fond sort of way.

Sighing good-naturedly, she smiled at Amon, his heart rapidly restarting as she looked up at him with dark blue eyes, a color he knew well by now. “I hope you know what you're getting yourself into, young man. He's his father's boy,” there was a sound of protest, as Lieu turned the tables on his father, and got his arms in a lock, laughing uproariously, “And I don't think I need to explain any further.” She rolled her eyes, her smile wry. 

“No fair, you bended!” Lieu was frantically patting down a smoking patch on his parka, his father laughing. “Mom! He cheated!” 

Lieu's mother sighed again in resignation. “You know, I could have married anyone in the South Pole. Anyone. I had three offers before I ran off with that big idiot. And look at the son he gave me.”

Amon shrugged, finally managing to find some words. “I like him.” He could talk about Lieu easily. 

She smiled conspiratorially. “Yes, well, don't let him know that. If he's anything like his father,” Lieu was smashing snow into his father's hair now, “He'll never let it go.” She shifted herself, leaning heavily on her cane, and held out her free hand. “I'm Nita. Northerner?” 

He nodded, and took her hand. “Yes. I'm Amon.” 

She frowned, and he remembered the name must sound strange to her. Who would name their child for such an obscure spirit, after all? He'd forgotten that a Southerner of all people would recognize it. “Odd choice. That the name your parents gave you?” 

“No.” He replied, shaking his head, licking his lips nervously at the mention of his parents. “It's my name now though.” 

“Good enough.” She said agreeably. “Well, that overgrown child over there is Lieu's father, Mirza. They'll be done in a minute.” She winced when she moved, and Amon frowned, a hand going out instinctively to help her. 

“Are you alright?” What a stupid question, he chastised himself. 

“The bad leg.” She replied casually, trying to adjust herself. “Doesn't do so well in the damp. We'd better head in, leave them to it. They'll get hungry eventually.” She waved her free hand lazily. “Or they'll hurt themselves. One of the two.”

His fighter seemed perfectly content where he was, so Amon followed her inside, pulling his gloves off and sticking them in his pocket. His heart couldn't decide on a pace, starting and stopping as his stomach tried to decide whether his breakfast could stay down. As he watched her walk, the obvious limp, the stiff way she held it, he sucked in a deep breath and held it, compelling himself to be calm. He was going to do it, he reminded himself, he was going to fix this. It was all going to be fine.

Inside, hanging from the exposed ceilings, were herbs drying. They filled the kitchen with their scents; basil, sage, lavender, rosemary, mint, thyme, fennel. Ginger, looking like thick bird feet, filled two jars on a shelf, beside it, one full of precious cinnamon. The next one was full of dried petals, and the one after that had the familiar shape of star anise. Cloves, one jar powdered, the other whole, were sealed tight in a neatly labeled jar. 

The cutting board on the counter was a dark wood, with many scars, and deep stains. All the knives on the wall behind it shone, sharp and clean. 

This was a well-used kitchen.

There was a basket of carrots on the table, where she had been working when they pulled up, a pile of cleaned and sliced ones in a bowl. “You any good in a kitchen?” He shook his head. “Of course not, you're a Northern boy.” 

“Sorry.” He had never had a reason to learn. He wondered if Lieu could, but then, they ate out so much, maybe not.

“You know, I was surprised when Lieu said you were a healer, especially now that I see you're Northern. I thought things were still a little more, well, I guess the word is 'traditional', but I was going to use 'asinine', if you don't mind, up there.” She settled herself down in her chair, lifting her leg up onto a stool across from her. “Your parents benders?” 

“No.” He lied, not willing to risk using a family name she might know, Southerner aside. “My brother and I were the first in a generation.” She didn't ask, thankfully, astute enough to see how closed the subject was. “I'd actually like to look at your leg, if you don't mind.” The sooner the better, before he lost his nerve.

She groaned, rubbing her knee. “I'd appreciate it, but it can wait until after lunch, can't it?” He nodded reluctantly, and took the seat opposite of her, after putting his parka on of the hooks in the wall, several others already hanging. “If it makes you feel more useful, one of them is going to need healing in about,” there was a crash, and a howl of pain, and she shook her head, her eyes rolling. “Now.” 

A few minutes later, he was healing Mirza, the man sitting in the chair beside his wife as Amon stood over him, Nita shaking her head.

Though the man was older, his face more lined, his jawline a little narrower, he was quite clearly his fighter's father. They shared a good deal of facial features, including the shape of their eyes, though Mirza's were amber. He had some grey in his hair too, shot through the black, but not much. He didn't wear his mustache the same either, his thicker and joining a short beard. There was more grey in his facial hair, but still not really much. 

He also had a broken nose that Amon was carefully taking care of, one that he grinned through with a kind of self-satisfaction Amon couldn't understand. 

“I swear, I have an extra child, not a husband.” Nita muttered, as she watched over her son, who was dutifully peeling and chopping the carrots, like she had told him to. Amon was surprised to see how easily he handled the kitchen knife, thinking that maybe he could cook after all, and just chose not to. “Your sister says hello, by the way.” 

“You have a sister?” This was the first Amon had heard of another sibling.

“No.” He said, concentrating on the carrots. His mother scowled, and hit him in the arm with her cane, making an audible smack. “Ow! Fine, yeah, Hana.” He glared resentfully at his mother, rubbing the spot where she'd struck him. 

“My oldest.” She elaborated, giving her son a bored sort of warning glare, one that put Amon in mind of Kanna more than his own mother. “Hana joined the United Forces, the Navy, specifically. She's at sea, right now.” 

“She's her father's girl.” Mirza said cheerfully. 

“All our children take after you. I don't know how that happened.” She raised her eyebrows at her injured husband. 

“Luck?” He suggested, as Amon stepped back, his nose now righted and unbruised.

In a rather dry tone, she replied, “Of a sort.” 

It was nothing like his parents' marriage. His mother would never dare speak to their father like that, and his father had never been so jovial about, well, anything. Their kitchen had never been so comfortable. 

Amon ended up sitting beside Lieu at the table, Mirza taking the seat by his wife. Without being asked, he pulled her leg into his lap, and worked his fingers into the area just above her knee, smiling cheerfully as she thanked him. 

“So,” Nita asked, leaning back on her chair. “Amon, is your family here too?”

“No.” He shook his head, choosing to look at his untouched food instead of Nita. He felt guilty for not eating, but he was too anxious to even attempt to be hungry. “I'm alone.” 

“Why is that?” Mirza asked. “Nothing in the North but ice and misery. Why not come down here?” 

Amon thought carefully before answering. What could he safely say? He had been so busy thinking of how to help Nita, he hadn't considered what would happen if they asked more questions about him, which was incredibly slow-witted in hindsight. Of course they were going to ask him personal questions, he was the man his fighter had brought home. “I'm estranged from my family.” He hazarded, leaving out any details. “To them, I'm dead.” That was probably not a lie. His father and Tarrlok had likely told his mother he had perished in the storm.

Besides, Noatak was dead. Amon was alone in the world.

His fighter's fingers intertwined with his under the table, and he revised that. 

Mirza opened his mouth, maybe to ask, but then he winced, reacting to a rather unsubtle kick from his wife. It embarrassed Amon, but it meant Mirza didn't ask, and that was all he could hope for. He was too nervous to keep his lies straight right now, so he didn't want to attempt anymore. 

Lieu changed the subject to something to do with machines, his father and him enthusiastic about the subject. But his mother kept watching Amon out of the corner of her eye, an odd look there that he couldn't discern the meaning of. The corner of her mouth kept pulling up like she wanted to smile at him, but she didn't. It was something similar to amusement though. 

“I wanted to ask, actually,” Nita said, after Lieu and his father had started to try and assemble a scale model of something out of carrots. “How did you and Lieu meet?”

His fighter coughed awkwardly, snapping back to attention. “Uh, well-” Nita held a hand up and looked at her son, with a sharp smile.

“I asked Amon, not you.” She said, every word precise. Lieu swallowed, and silenced, but kept nudging Amon in the ankle with his foot. He couldn't understand why he was doing it, and he glanced at him, confused, as he answered. 

“He chi-blocked me.” 

Lieu made a face that suggested Amon was not supposed to say that, right as Mirza started laughing and Nita asked, _“What?”_ in a voice that made even his spine straighten in fear. “Lieu, what in the world, are you just going around assaulting people? I raised you better than that, boy!”

“It was a misunderstanding!” His fighter quickly interjected, kicking Amon hard in the ankle under the table. Amon frowned at him, and kicked him back. It wasn't his fault Lieu had done something he apparently wasn't supposed to.

Now it was Mirza getting poked with a cane. “I told you not to teach them that!” She said, every word punctuated by a jab of the cane, Mirza still laughing. “What were you thinking?” She rounded on Lieu. “Why would you do that to a _healer_?” 

“It's not what it sounds like, I was just, um,” Lieu was struggling for a lie, that much was obvious. It was hard to lie to your mother, after all, especially to this woman. She looked like she could sniff out a lie with the skill of a hunting dog. Amon was frankly a little afraid of her. “He forgave me.” He offered weakly.

“I never said that.” Amon pointed out, feeling he should save him anyway, even if it wasn't his fault. “There was nothing to forgive. You were only demonstrating a point.” He had just done it in a very rude, confrontational way. But perhaps it had been necessary. It had gotten his attention, after all. “It was fine. He didn't hurt me.” Much. 

“If I remember right, _you_ gave me a concussion.” Mirza said, grinning at his wife. “Maybe he's your son after all.” 

“It was an _accident_ ,” Nita hissed, the argument showing the signs of being well-tread territory. “What kind of an idiot walks in front of a woman swinging a club?” 

“What kind of warrior doesn't watch where she's swinging her club?” Mirza teased. “I got better. I got healed by Katara herself, you know.” He said to Amon. “It was pretty neat, meeting her.” He seemed genuinely happy, recounting the story, but Amon supposed that since it was how he had met his wife, it was a happy memory for him, regardless of said concussion. “Too bad I had some crazy woman in my face the entire time, commanding me not to die.” 

“I thought I had just re-started the Hundred Years War, give me a break,” Nita scowled, rubbing her face. “And then this idiot opens his eyes, grins at me, and asks me if I want to get dinner sometime.” 

“You were pretty.” Mirza shrugged, still smiling. “And you had a good arm on you. I like that in a woman.” 

“You're ridiculous.” She muttered, her smile fond. “You are absolutely ridiculous.” 

“Still married me. Can't take it back, so hah.”

Watching them, he somehow found a bit more anger to dredge up for his father. She really was a nice woman, wasn't she? And his father had ruined her life, had put an unfair burden on the husband who loved her, on her children, who adored her, if Lieu was any indication. Just because he felt like it, just because she was in his way. 

They finished lunch, and Amon managed to make himself useful by helping his fighter with the dishes. Nita's leg was hurting her more than she let on, he could see, from the way she reacted as her husband stood. Just the change in elevation was enough to cause her to hide a wince. 

He concentrated on the dishes. Soon, he thought. Soon, all that pain would be over. He just had to get her to let him help her.

“They like you.” His fighter said, with a small smile, elbowing Amon a little. Amon was washing, Lieu drying. “Both of them do.”

The assessment caused something in his chest to warm, and he couldn't fight the smile that pulled up the corners of his mouth. He valued the opinion of these two people, who Lieu seemed to respect and love deeply. He wanted them to approve of him for their son.

As long as they never found out, he reminded himself. If they knew, he couldn't even imagine their reaction. 

A kiss was pressed to the corner of his mouth. Surprised, he turned to Lieu, who was looking at him with that overwhelmingly fond expression, the one that made his heart hurt from how it swelled in joy. “I love it when you smile.” He confided, his voice low enough that only Amon could hear. 

He tugged on a side tail, and Amon snapped his hand with a water whip, scowling. “Stop that.” 

“Damn benders,” he growled, and grabbed at Amon, his arm around his waist, nearly making him drop the plate he was holding. “I'll pull your rabaroo tails all I like, brat.” 

“My what?” Amon had never heard them referred to as such, nor would he allow Lieu to do so. “They're side tails, you degenerate,” 

“Rabaroo tails,” Lieu insisted, stealing a kiss. 

“Hey, I see a lot of flirting and not a whole lot of dish washing going on over there.” Nita called from the table, an eyebrow raised in good humor. 

His face on fire, he shoved the dish he'd washed at Lieu, and turned his back to her. They finished quickly, Amon silent in his embarrassment, while Lieu snickered beside him. 

Once they were done and stacked, he turned to Nita. He was ready, he reminded himself. 

_Yue, please, let me be ready._

“I'd like to take a look at your leg, Nita.” He said. “I'm a very good healer. I think I could do something for you.” 

“Top of his class.” Lieu added offhandedly. 

“Yes, I bet you can.” Nita said, that inscrutable expression on her face again. “You being top of your class and all, I mean.” She was getting to her feet with her husband's help, her cane steadying her. “Let's go in the bedroom there, so I can lie down while you're doing it.”

He nodded. “Of course.” It would be easier for him too, like that. 

He grabbed a bowl off the shelf, and filled it with water, using snow from outside, then walked into the indicated room. They had a raised bed, thankfully, so he didn't have to kneel. There was a quilt the color of peppers on the bed, but a white fur folded at the foot. 

This house was so blended, he thought. So many pieces of both places, all meshed comfortably together. As he watched Mirza kiss Nita on the temple, his chest ached with guilt and longing. He wished more than anything that this had been what he had known of parents, what he had known of love. Theirs was as deep as the ocean, and he couldn't help but want that. That love held this house together, had allowed them to settle around each other. 

Could he have this with Lieu someday? A house, a life? 

Mirza slid the door shut, leaving him alone with Nita. With a great huff of effort, she sat on the bed and heaved her leg up on to it, settling her cane against the wall. 

Without her husband and son, her face had twisted in honest pain. Just as he had thought, it was hurting her a lot more than she let her husband and son know. 

How had his father done this to people? How had he ever justified the ruination of lives, innocent people who had never committed any injustice against him? And he had dared be angry over what the Avatar had done? As far as Amon was concerned, Avatar Aang hadn't done it soon enough. His father didn't deserve to carry the blessing of Tui and La. The pain and suffering he had carried every day since the Avatar had stripped him of it had been his due punishment. 

With careful hands, he helped her get her loose trousers off, so that her legs were bare. Gingerly, he placed his hands down, at the top of her thigh, trying to pinpoint where his father had ruined her. Nita remained quiet, as he gently examined first the chi lines, all the way down to her calf. 

They were twisted around in a strange way, and when he tugged on them, she flinched and hissed. 

Deeper than the chi lines, for sure then. 

He sucked in a deep breath, and looked at her. “What I'm about to do will feel very strange. I promise though, I'm not going to hurt you.” He had no idea what his bloodbending would feel like, if she could even feel it at all, but he didn't want to frighten her. 

He had never seen anyone with the exact shade of blue eyes his fighter had, until today. It was his mother's color. She looked at him, that blue forcing him to hold her eyes, expression grim. “No, I expect you won't hurt me, will you?” She said, not a question, but a statement. “Go ahead.” She closed her eyes, allowing him to look away.

Another deep breath, and then with his hands back at the top of her thigh, he closed his own eyes, and _focused_. 

He heard her breath catch, as he very cautiously followed the veins, muscle, and tendons down. It took him no time at all to find the source of the tangled chi lines. Right above her knee, he found what his father had done. When he had released her from the hold, he must have been distracted. He had jerked too hard, had pulled and twisted. 

Or maybe it had been on purpose. He wouldn't put that kind of cruelty past his father.

“I'm going to try something. I think I might be able to ease the pain in a different way.” _Yue_ , he pleaded silently. _Yue, please. Please let me be right, please let me right this._

Nita was watching him again, with that same almost-smile from before, an odd light in her eyes, similar to triumph. “Whatever you think is best, Amon.” She said his name in half mocking sort of way, that reminded him strongly of his fighter. 

It relaxed him, eased a knot in his shoulders he hadn't realized was there. 

He closed his eyes again, and counted his breath back from ten. He could do this, he could. He could see the damage, he could feel it, and if he was delicate, if he was as careful as could be, he could fix this. He could undo what his father had done. He could never give back the years his father had stolen, could never take away the pain she had suffered, but he could make sure there was no more time wasted, no more pain felt.

Trying to keep himself calm, he felt out the damage, and then, with the softest touch he could manage, _moved_ it all back into place. 

Nita gave a small cry, but not of pain. More shock at the feeling, which had to be strange. 

With one hand focused on the blood, he used his other hand to straighten out the chi lines that had twisted with the damage, returning them to where they were supposed to be. The hand focusing on his father's work forced it to follow the chi lines, like it was supposed to, to flow healthily. It took a great deal of concentration, every ounce he had, as he released the chi lines to touch the nerves, and heal the destruction done to them as a result of his father's assault. He could feel the other healers, their work that had been done over the years, but it wasn't as good as his. He was better, more talented, than anyone she had ever met, he was sure.

He was better than his father, he thought. Yue had saved him. She wouldn't have done that if he wasn't.

He opened his eyes, right as his knees gave out. He had over-extended himself, had used a little more energy than he was used to expending. He had forgotten how absorbing bloodbending was, how it took so much out of a waterbender, especially during the day, the full moon still a week away.

He caught himself on the bed, mostly, managed to stop himself from bruising his knees on the floor at the very least. He eased his legs down more gently, resting his head on the bed, trying to catch his breath. The room spun when he opened his eyes, so he shut them again, his stomach turning with his lunch, just a little. Maybe doing it before moonrise had not been a little hasty. 

A hand touched the top of his head. Then, carefully, it started to stroke his hair. He almost shuddered under the unexpected touch, so foreign and maternal, Nita's voice soft as she spoke. “Thank you.” 

He had no answer, couldn't form words. Because that voice, that tone she used, it caused a spike of unexplainable fear in him. It was too knowing, sounding like a pardon he could never dare ask for. “Nita,” he tried, but she silenced him, with a shake of her head.

“You look like him, you know. You're darker, and you're shorter. Still growing, I expect.” He felt her turn, so that she was curled around him, a little. “Your bending feels different too. Hurts a lot less. Still has that weird feel to it though. Believe me, you don't forget how that feels.” 

He could have sobbed, if he'd had the energy, as Nita stroked his hair. “I'm sorry,” he gasped. “I'm so sorry.” His face was hot with unshed tears, his stomach tight with shame. He had no right to be beside this woman, no right to stand in her home, to love her son. “I'm trying so hard. I left him behind, I became a healer, and I'm sorry for what he did, I am,” Amon was rambling, but he couldn't help it. How to say that he had heard Yue's voice, had heard her forgive him? What did that mean to this woman?

“Shh,” Nita got off the bed with a grace she had lacked before, and wrapped her arms around him. 

For just a moment, it was like she was his own mother, and it was enough to calm him. 

“I knew who you were, you know.” She said, but she didn't sound angry. Why not? “When I saw you standing in front of the house, I knew. Saw you, and just, wow, took me back twenty years. I wanted to see what you knew though, why you were here. You were so insistent on seeing my leg, I had an idea.” She pulled back, and smoothed down his side tails. “Did you know, when you met Lieu?” He shook his head. “Does Lieu know?” Again, he shook his head. 

“I love him.” He managed, hoping against everything that that at least counted for something, and she smiled. 

“Yeah. That's only a little obvious. On both your parts. But then again, my son has always been about as subtle as a komodo rhino.” She considered him again, and then tapped her leg. “The pain is gone for good, isn't it?” 

He nodded hard enough it almost hurt. “I healed it all. I undid all he did. You'll need to see a healer still, for a check-up, but I fixed all of the underlying damage. It can't come back. You're healed.” _Yue_ , he prayed, _Don't let me be a liar. Let this be what you meant._

Nita cupped his face, and forced him to look her in the eye. “You're a good boy.” She said. “You fixed it.” Her blue eyes, that deep, fathomless blue that he had seen staring at him from the ring that first night, made him take in a deep breath, to calm himself. “And I have to say, took some spine to come here and try, so you must be my boy's match.” She smiled, all teeth, and it was just like his fighter's smile. 

“You're wrong, you know.” He said, and she raised an eyebrow. “He's your son too.”

She laughed. “Yeah, he is. He's a lot like me, the brat.” She released him, and sat back against the bed, flexing what had been her bad leg. “You came out here because you love him, didn't you?” 

He turned and sat with his back to the bed, legs out beside hers, and nodded. “I think so.” He bit his lip. “I needed to fix the past. That was my first thought. But maybe if it wasn't him, I wouldn't have been brave enough. I think I'm going to end up being very reckless over him.” Reckless enough to let his identity be known by someone who should hate him, but didn't seem to. 

“Typically how love is.” She grinned, shaking her head. “Know why I hit Mirza? Because I was too busy showing off for him to watch my swing.” 

That sounded like something Lieu would do. The man had gone for a showy first round knockout just to impress him, after all. 

She sobered, her face firm as she looked at the wall. “So, he is alive? You're too young to have been born before he disappeared.” 

“He was, the last time I checked, though I came close to changing that.” When he had threatened Tarrlok, that instinct had welled up. Yakone was lucky Amon had a better control over his temper than he did. “That was two years ago.” He shrugged. “I don't care anymore.” Maybe not entirely true, but getting there. 

Nita nodded. “Yeah, I'm not surprised. Doesn't seem like he'd be much of a father.” She took in a deep breath, rubbing the leg. “Lieu doesn't know anything?” 

He shook his head. “I can't. I can't ever be that person again, so what does it matter?” Noatak was dead and gone, for two years now. Why couldn't he burn away to ashes already, leave Amon alone? “I'm not going to keep it from him forever. I will tell him, when I'm ready.” 

“That's fair.” She nodded. “I guess.” 

They sat there together for a long moment, then she looked at him and winked. “Help me stand? First time in twenty years I'll be standing without a cane, so forgive me for being a little leery. Even if you were top of your class.” He obediently helped her, her weight on his elbow and shoulder. She was surprisingly heavy, for such a small woman, but he could guess that she was a lot more muscle than fat, even if she wasn't a warrior anymore.

Once they were standing, she very carefully let go, and tapped the healed leg on the ground. “Well, would you look at that?” She was a little awed, it seemed, and Amon's throat tightened at the sound.

“Are you having any pain? Any at all?” He dared ask. 

She shook her head. “Little weak, muscle is out of use. But no, nothing. Spirits. You really fixed it.” he sound she made was a mix between a gasp and a sob. “Oh, damn. _Damn_. Get my husband, get him now.” 

He jumped to do her bidding, afraid something was wrong now, that he'd made a mistake. He leaned out the doorway, and found his fighter and his father, sitting at the table. “She wants you.” He managed, biting his lip. Mirza stood without any more urging, pushing past him, and then there was silence before-

He was lifted off the ground in a hug that made his bones creak, his fighter staring from the doorway. “He fixed her leg!” Mirza cheered, putting Amon down to go back to his wife. Over his shoulder, he watched Mirza pick his wife up by the waist in a hug, the both of them happy, so very happy, and he...he felt good inside. He felt relieved, happy, especially when his fighter came to stand beside him, his warmth and presence familiar at his back. 

“You fixed her.” He said, quietly, and Amon risked looking up at him. He wasn't looking at his mother, but at Amon, his blue eyes wide and fully focused on him. “You...” One wide hand cupped his neck, as his fighter leaned down to close the small space between them, kissing Amon like he was life itself. “You are _amazing_.” He finished, against his mouth. 

“No, I'm not.” He refuted, shaking his head, but his fighter held him still, kissed him again.

“You are.” He insisted. 

“I just...I saw the problem.” He tried, but it was to no avail, as the excitement from Lieu's parents ran over into him. He hardly took his hands off Amon for the rest of the visit, his affection plain for any to see, his love so palpable, it really did hurt, but in the best way.

He had helped her. He had fixed it. 

He wasn't his father.

When Lieu was getting the bike ready to leave, Nita took him aside, for just a second. She was serious again, and he had a hard time looking her in the eye. They were too similar to his fighter's, too penetrative. “Now I'm grateful, don't get me wrong. And I won't tell your secret. Not even to him. It's not mine to tell.” 

“Thank you.” He said, but she kept speaking, not yet done. 

“But if he finds out from anyone else, he will never forgive you.” She continued, and now he looked away completely, to watch him instead, listening to his father say something about the engine, to judge from the way he was pointing at it. “I know my son. He doesn't like being lied to, especially not by those he trusts.” 

“I know that.” He had always known that, hadn't he? He and his fighter were so similar, maybe too much so in some areas. “I don't know when I can. Just not yet.” 

When they were more established, when he was sure he wouldn't leave Amon, abandon him back into his loneliness. He couldn't lose him. Not ever. He needed him, his companionship, the way he looked at Amon like he was worthwhile. 

“Waiting won't make it any easier. It's just going to weigh on you.” When he said nothing, she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You will tell him? Eventually?” 

He nodded, hoping he wasn't lying. 

“Alright then.” She sounded reluctant, but final. “Just don't drag it out. Tell him soon, before it eats you up.” 

She was right, and he knew it very well. But he didn't know how he could do it, how he could stand to put all that love into jeopardy. 

The trip back was quiet, just the sound of the motor, and his fighter's heartbeat. 

Amon chose to think of nothing but that, chose to feel nothing but the thrill of his victory. He had proven that he could use this as something other than a weapon. It could be applied in a good way. It could help. He had been right.

That was good. That was all that mattered about today. 

His fighter stopped the bike at his own apartment, instead of the dorms, and Amon knew why, knew what he wanted. He was excited, happy, and in love with Amon, after all. Who was he to question what that love led to, what it made? Who was he to say no? He loved him too, wanted his touch, his kiss. 

So why did he feel this guilty reluctance? He wasn't stealing anything. His fighter gave him this without strings attached. He had never asked for anything from Amon in return, except honesty. He should be able to accept this without trepidation, wrap himself up in his fighter's love without fear. Why was he letting today make him feel so reluctant, when today had proven he deserved this?

“Hey,” Lieu pulled back from his kiss, Amon backed up against the door still. “You with me?” He was frowning down at Amon, drawing back. “If you don't want to, we don't have to.”

He shook his head. “I want to.” It wasn't a lie, he did. He wanted this man so much he had been willing to face a fear that haunted him, face the shadows of the past that followed him every day. So wrapped his arms around him, pulled him back into the kiss. 

He didn't want to ever be anywhere else. 

Later, they were lying together, his fighter still on him, kissing his neck, his jaw, everywhere. Like he couldn't kiss Amon enough, like he needed him. “I think, and your commentary on that is not needed,” he added, his mouth by Amon's collarbone. “I think your moon spirit knew what she was doing. When she brought you to me.”

“She's yours too, you know. You're half Water Tribe.” His fighter just shrugged. 

“I don't need any spirits.” Amon frowned at him, but the man just kissed him again, dragging it out as long as possible. It made his heart rise in his throat, that kiss, made him tighten his hold on his fighter. “I've got what I want.” He said, when he broke it. “Trust me, I have everything I want right now.” 

Amon felt every bit of implication in those words, as he pressed him down into the bed with his weight. He wanted him back inside, wanted that whole feeling again. He was starting to worry that he was taking too much of Lieu, by constantly assuming this would be his role in this kind of sex, but he liked it too much. Even he could be selfish at times, and the way it felt, to be held, taken care of, it was sweetly addicting. 

No one had ever taken care of him. It had always been him, taking care of Tarrlok, and then everyone at the clinic. No one had ever found him worth that much effort. 

“Are you going to stop fighting?” He asked, hopeful in the darkness, but Lieu just smiled at him. 

“Why would I do that?” He was genuinely puzzled at the idea, that much he could tell. It confused him. “It's my income, in case you haven't noticed.” He was more interested in exploring Amon's collarbone than he was in the conversation, trying rather successfully to get Amon interested in another round.

Struggling to keep his senses, he answered. “I thought you needed the extra money to pay for her healers. Now you don't have to.” 

Lieu shrugged. “And now I have extra money to send to them. Or to spend.” When Amon said nothing, his smile dropped, finally noticing he was serious. “Did you think I was going to?”

He had only hoped. “I suppose not.” 

His fighter's smile came back, but his own didn't, his heart heavier. Still, he kept kissing him, let his fighter back inside of him when he asked. 

Had he really thought this man would ever stop fighting? He loved being in the ring, loved feeling the power of his body. Amon had his bending, this man had his skill, and he would never stop using it, no matter how much it frightened Amon. 

No matter what he thought he knew about how he and his friends were controlling the bets, how dangerous he was sure it was. His fighter was just one person, and who were his friends? A teenager smaller than Amon, and Zolt, who he knew nothing about. 

But he couldn't control him. Lieu was an adult, and he made his own decisions, for better or worse. Even if he asked him to stop, and he said yes, would that really make him feel better? He'd have taken something from him. 

Besides, what right did he have to question him? When he was keeping this darkness hidden away, this great lie, even if it was only by omission? 

When they were done, he found he didn't much want to stay, with all of it hanging over him. He wanted to be back in the dorms, with his friends, the ones who never asked and never would. Maybe wouldn't even care. 

Because he knew, here in this bed now, with a bedrock certainty, that his friends would never turn their backs on him. Pasook had confided his secrets in him, and now, with his head clear of some of his guilt and self-flagellation, that Pasook would accept Amon as easily as he had accepted him. Penna, with all her sweet ferocity, would only insist it didn't change a thing. That by the rights of Tui and La, he was her brother and she'd love him anyway. 

They were not his fighter, true. They did not give him that same grounded feeling that Lieu did. But it was them and their dependable loyalty he wanted now, when he felt so adrift.

“I should go back to the clinic. I have morning shift.” He climbed out of bed, out of his arms, and found his clothes. His fighter followed, dressing as well, going for his coat, but Amon shook his head. “You don't need to go with me.” It was cold outside, and his fighter didn't need to be overtaxing himself. They were both tired from today.

Lieu paused, frowning. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No.” It was only half a lie. “But it's been a long day. You can go to sleep.” 

“Or I can walk you home. You have a bad habit of mouthing off to the wrong people, you know.” He warned, just a tease more than anything else. 

Amon was confused by it. “I mouthed off to you.” 

Lieu smirked. “Exactly.” 

There was an odd feeling to that, like he was making a joke that Amon didn't understand. “Are you the wrong people?” He asked, a little incredulous at the idea.

“I could have been.” He stepped forward, and tugged on a side tail. “Lucky for you, I liked you.”

“Lucky me.” He replied dryly, forgetting the odd notion entirely. 

His fighter was clearly intent on walking him home, so he allowed it. He liked him there anyway, if he was honest with himself, even if he was disappointed in him. Better than being alone, by a long shot.

As they walked, he wrapped an arm around Amon, ostensibly to shield him from the cold cutting through his parka, which was approaching threadbare, more likely just to touch him. 

He really needed to get a new coat, and soon, before the winter hit, or he'd be half frozen just walking down the street. He still didn't have enough though, not for a good one, and he'd rather wait, and buy one that would last. A Water Tribe design, with fur. He didn't like the coats here as much, with their buttons. It seemed like they left space for the cold to sneak in and grab at him. 

The clinic was up ahead, thankfully not too far from his fighter's neighborhood. He really wanted to shower, to get the grime of the day's journey and the sweat from their sex off his skin. Not to mention some well-earned sleep. The healing really had taken a toll on him and his already exhausted body.

“You sure you don't want to go get dinner?” His fighter asked, but Amon shook his head. It was already late, and he just wanted to sit in the library with everyone for a bit before they went to bed.

“I'll get something from the canteen.” Lieu sighed in dramatic disappointment, but didn't protest. The kiss good-bye lingered a little longer than necessary of course, the man grinning as Amon pushed him away with disapproval. “Go, now.” 

“I'll see you soon, okay?” He said, grabbing a side tail, not tugging, not yet. “I love you.” He tugged his hair, like he had been expecting. “Thank you, for today. For my mom.”

He nodded. “I love you, too.” He leaned forward, and kissed Lieu again, this one sweeter. “I wanted to try for you.” 

“Hm,” Lieu smiled, his arms around Amon's waist. “You sure you don't want to blow your shift off tomorrow? Come with me to the bath house maybe?” It was a tempting offer, but he shook his head. The clinic needed him more than he wanted a bath. 

“Another day.” 

“Promise?”

“Yes.” He managed to escape from him, and stepped up a few steps, so he was out of reach and couldn't be pulled back by the more mischievous man. “Good night.” He insisted, and hurried up, into the warmth.

Lieu waited, at the bottom of the steps, until Amon shut the door of the entryway. It was a protective gesture he might have found insulting had it been anyone else doing it. There was a small wave, then he was gone, walking down the street and out of sight, hands in his pockets. He looked like he was whistling. 

Amon watched him go until he couldn't see him anymore, the cold from the glass of the doors touching him as he pulled his gloves and parka off. 

When he turned, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Yasu was lurking against the wall, mostly hidden behind a support column. He was ashen, eyes wide. “What are you doing?” When Yasu didn't immediately acknowledge him, his concern grew. He came closer, to touch him, but when he did, Yasu sprang away like Amon had stuck him with a pin. “Are you alright?” 

The other man blinked, and seemed to shake himself to attention. Then he made a great show of smiling and smoothing down his short hair. “Fine, yeah. Uh, that guy, the one outside, was that your guy?” Amon nodded, wondering why Yasu was trying to distract him.

“Yes.” Yasu looked like he was a second away from fainting. Amon sighed, and managed to get a grip on his elbow. “You should lie down. You look bad.” Maybe it was a fever of some sort? He made to touch Yaus's cheek with the back of his palm, but he dodged away from him, still grinning in that nervous way.

“No, no, I was actually just uh, going to see Pasook? So I'll just go there, to the library. That's where he is. The library.” He hurried away, before Amon could stop him. He moved alright, so Amon figured he must look worse than he was. Maybe he just needed to rest. They all did, really. 

He went to the canteen, and found something to eat. There was some herbal tea made over the stove, and rice balls wrapped in seaweed in the communal food, stuffed with the bean paste he liked. He took about four, his stomach growling, and a large cup of the tea, then joined his friends in the library. Yasu was sitting with Pasook, still looking a little pale, but maybe only to Amon. Whatever had been wrong with him in the hall had apparently passed. Maybe just a touch of dizziness then, understandable, after all the double shifts the firebenders had been pulling to keep the clinic going in this sudden icy snap.

“Hey Amon,” Penna greeted, taking the brush out of her mouth. There were indentations from her teeth along the handle, which kind of disgusted him. He hoped that was actually her brush, and not one she'd stolen from his shelf. “How was your day?” 

He settled in, glancing over at what she was studying while simultaneously protecting his food from Pasook, who eyed them with open longing. “Fine.” Feeling considerate, he gave half of one to his friend, who devoured it in two bites. “What have you done today?”

Penna started explaining the research she'd been doing on a heart condition he'd never seen, and as she did, his mind eased at last. 

It had been a long day, all in all, and it was good to be home.


	13. When you broke my chest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amon visits Hwan, and sees that one of his worst fears has been realized, when it comes to his friend. 
> 
> And then he prays.
> 
> And saves a life (and another).
> 
> (And then a third)
> 
> He was always going to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I woke up today, sat down, and started writing. Excusing breaks, I just finished this. It's the best I can do.

Hwan hadn't been in the clinic for well over a week, and Amon was worried. Reza had assured him Jin wouldn't touch Hwan again, but that didn't mean there wasn't another man just like him. Frankly, Amon wasn't much inclined to trust Reza's word anyway, when it came down to it.

So he packed his bag for house calls, and went out, making sure to tell his shift leader where he was going beforehand. He didn't want anyone to think he was shirking his duties. 

“The Hidden Garden Arbor?” She questioned, puzzled. She was of Foggy Swamp stock, and had the lighter coloring that characterized them. Her blues made her look a little washed out because of it. “Isn't that a brothel?” 

Amon nodded. “We usually see a few of their workers for their weekly check-ups, but not this week. I'm concerned.” It was only a small lie, he rationalized. “I just want to go make sure everything is in order over there.” 

She gave her assent. “Just be careful. That neighborhood is Triple Threat territory.” 

“I can handle myself.” He replied, not unkindly. “I've been there before for home visits, on my days off. I shouldn't have a problem.” 

The woman sighed at him in an amused way. “You seriously need to learn to have some fun, Amon. Who goes and works on their day off?” 

“Me.” He shrugged, only a little self-conscious about it. “It needs to be done, is all.” She just waved him off, with a look that suggested she was humoring him and his strangeness. “I shouldn't be long. A few hours.” 

“If you're not back by supper, I'll send out the cavalry.” She promised, her attention already diverted by some kind of commotion going on in one of the examination rooms. 

It was snowing in earnest outside, winter finally showing her face. He bended himself a small bubble of mostly clear air, keeping the chinook up around his mouth. It wasn't his, but Penna's, the girl giving it to him with an eye roll and a mutter about not being his mother. It was warm and soft though, and kept the cold out, so it was well worth the vague insults towards his intelligence.

The tea house was dark in the day, though he could see a few rooms softly lit behind the white panels. He couldn't remember which one was Hwan's, so he had to just hope he wasn't waking him, as he slipped in through the gate to the entryway.

Reza was not there, unsurprisingly. It was too cold for even a firebender to sit comfortably outside. But nor was he in the foyer. There was a thin man of Earth Kingdom stock, maybe, with olive green eyes, dozing, sprawled across the bench meant for guests to sit on when they removed their shoes. 

Some guard, he thought, as he sat on the raised floor the led to the rest of the house, taking off his snowy boots on the tiles and tucking them into one of the cubbyholes meant for them. Some thoughtful servant had placed springy mats inside each one to absorb the water coming off them, though the holes were mostly empty by this hour. He found a pair of house shoes that fit, and went upstairs, the guard not stirring once.

Upstairs, he found Hwan's room, thinking about the layout as he did so. Hwan's room must have faced an inner courtyard, he decided, because it wasn't along the outside wall. It was lit though, so he didn't feel bad about knocking, softly, remembering most of the workers and servants were sleeping by now. 

Hwan looked surprised to see him, when he slid the door back, but pleasantly so. “If it isn't my favorite little healer. What brings you here, darling?” 

“Stop calling me that.” He reminded him automatically. “And you haven't been by in a bit. I was worried.” 

“Aww,” he cooed in mocking pleasure. “How sweet. Come in then.” He stepped back to admit Amon, showing he wasn't alone in his room. 

Reza was sitting at the table, legs crossed under him as he studied the go board in front of him. It looked like he was playing white, which meant Hwan was black. Amon didn't know much about go, not having grown up with it, but he knew enough to tell Hwan was winning. By a lot. He was a little surprised at how utterly unsurprising it was that Hwan was good at such a strategic game. 

“Healer,” Reza acknowledged him without looking up. 

“Your doorman is sleeping.” Amon said, feeling it to be important, but Reza just grinned, the good side of his mouth pulling up higher. 

“No he's not.” He refuted, sounding very sure of that. “Bao is a fan of the school of deception. He's a weird earthbender.” He moved a white stone, looking unsure about it. 

Without so much as a frown, Hwan crouched enough to touch the board, and made a move, then straightened. Reza stared, and then groaned, burying the good side of his face in his hand. “How are you this good at this?” 

“Maybe you're just really bad at it.” He replied, a shine to his eyes that Amon really didn't like as he looked at Reza. He was making no move to kick Reza out either, seeming to take for granted that Amon would be perfectly comfortable in the room with the other man. “Have you had breakfast yet, Amon?” 

“Yes.” He nodded, though it had been hours ago. There was no point in trying to hide from Hwan though, because he just smirked in that knowing way of his. 

“Do you want tea or coffee?” He was already halfway to the door. 

“Black tea.” Amon answered, giving in. His throat was kind of scratchy from over use anyway. “With-”

“Milk and sugar, I know.” He smiled again, when he turned to Reza, that same smile Amon was really uncomfortable with seeing turned on the tattooed man. The good arm was bare, the bad one wrapped in cotton strips, so Amon could see the design that had been inked so heavily into the skin, there was not a space left for anymore. With his hair back in a neatly twisted chignon, Amon could see it went up his neck too, and probably down his back. 

Triads earn tattoos, he remembered Pasook saying. Reza had earned a lot. 

And his friend was looking at this man with a look that could be described as _doting_ , if he was so inclined. “Do you want more breakfast, or do you want lunch?” 

“I don't know, whatever you want.” Reza replied, all his concentration on the board. 

“Alright then.” Hwan hitched a shoulder in a shrug he managed to still make look elegant somehow. “I'll be back in a moment.” He stepped out, presumably to fetch a servant, leaving Amon alone with Reza.

There was a sickening twist in his gut when he recognized the wooden hair piece in Reza's hair. The loop that mimicked a bird with the wings encircled, a wooden pin threading through the hair and circle. How many times had he seen that piece in Hwan's hair? It was his favorite. 

And he'd put it in Reza's hair. 

Amon didn't speak, had no idea what he would even say to a man like Reza. He made Amon uncomfortable, even more so now that he'd seen how easily he'd interacted with his friend. 

Reza apparently had no desire to speak to him either, for whatever reason he had. 

He had only been in Hwan's room the one time before, but he was observant enough that he had absorbed the basics of it. Now, when he looked around, small details stood out to him as being wrong. There were items that didn't look like Hwan's scattered about. A book on the floor by the table, a two-yuan dreadful that Pasook had been following as well, that he didn't think was Hwan's taste at all, plus the previous installments, on a shelf with Hwan's own texts. There was a red sash that was certainly not Hwan's lying on the bed, half shoved under the spare blanket at the foot, but still obvious amongst the green. 

A flame pin, on Hwan's dressing table. 

This man had been sleeping in here. With Hwan. 

He felt like screaming, for a second, a fast rush of strangled emotion he couldn't understand. What was he thinking, letting this man in here? Was he that desperate to be comfortable? Had his situation in the house really been so bad that Reza had seemed like a good option? 

The door slid back open, as Hwan re-entered. “Still thinking?” He asked Reza, with a teasing look. 

“Let me focus.” He growled, not looking up. “Bother your friend.” 

“Fine.” He turned to Amon, and he noticed that Hwan's hair was loose for the first time he could ever remember. It was hanging over his shoulder, bound together halfway down with a deep red ribbon. It was much longer when left to its own devices, easily hanging at his thighs, fluffy and soft like a lamb's coat. “Do you mind taking a look around the house? I know Taruk could use a good look.” 

Amon nodded, eager to be out of the room with Reza, and alone with Hwan. He followed the other man out into the hall, Hwan leaving the door open a bit, probably to let the servant know they could enter when the food was prepared. 

He waited until they were out of earshot of Reza, before he grabbed Hwan by the elbow, stopping him. “Is he sleeping in your room?” He asked, hoping there was some other explanation. From the way Hwan shifted so guiltily though, he knew there wasn't. “You can't be serious.”

“Reza sits at the boss' right hand. I can't get any higher up, or be any safer, than I am as his.” He hissed, keeping his voice down. 

“That doesn't explain why you sit and play go with him, or why you're brushing his hair.” Amon argued. “That was your hair pin in his hair.” 

Hwan narrowed his dark green eyes. “You have no idea what's going on here, Amon, so don't you dare condescend to me like this. Maybe that flies down at the clinic, but it won't with me, are we clear?” 

Amon frowned, unhappy, but Hwan was older than him, and he understood things Amon had no hope of. If he said Amon didn't know what he was talking about, he was probably right, and he needed to respect that.

That didn't mean he liked it though.

Still, he nodded, and released him. 

“Good.” Hwan said curtly. “Now, let's go see the puppy.” His cheerful manner resumed as though the brief cloud of warning had never been there, and kept walking. 

“Puppy?” Amon asked, confused. “I've never healed a dog.” He'd never tried to heal an animal at all, actually.

“No, it's what we call Taruk.” That made sense, when Amon thought about. The boy definitely had some very similar characteristics to a puppy, with his big eyes and eager to please manner. “He should be awake. If not, we can just wake him up.” He knocked softly, and there was a shuffling noise behind the door. When it slid open, Taruk stood there, with half-lidded eyes, his hair down around his shoulders as he yawned. 

“Hi Hwan. Hi Healer.” He said, rubbing at his eyes like a child would. “Is Zhi back?” 

Hwan scowled at the name, and Amon could guess why, when he saw the dark purple bruises around Taruk's wrists. “No, you managed to wear him out.” The disdain in his voice was palpable. “Amon is here to look you over, make sure he didn't leave any permanent damage.” 

“Zhi doesn't do that kind of stuff.” Taruk protested, stepping back to admit them. “He just likes to tie me up when we-” Hwan slapped a hand over the boy's mouth, for which Amon was eternally grateful. He knew not everyone had conventional sexual tastes, but he didn't want to hear about them, especially not applied to Taruk, who looked all of thirteen right now, with his hair down. 

“Taruk, what did we talk about yesterday?” Hwan asked, very precisely. 

The boy seemed to think very hard for a minute. “No one wants to know that Zhi likes-” Again, Hwan covered his mouth. 

“Just stop talking, dear heart.” The boy nodded obediently, then sat down on a floor cushion so Amon could give him a check-up. 

He was actually in good shape this time, despite the bruising. It looked much worse than it was, really only surface damage from where the client named Zhi had tied the bindings too tight. Taruk didn't seem to mind though, humming to himself as Amon worked and asked the usual questions. Zhi at least was careful with him when it came to the actual sex, perhaps factoring in that Taruk was essentially a child. 

He hadn't needed to think that thought, ever. It made him want to take the boy out of the house immediately, though what he would do with him, he had no idea. 

“Hey Hwan,” Taruk asked, while Amon was packing up. “Can you ask Reza something?”

“Do I look like a messenger hawk?” Hwan raised an eyebrow, his mouth in a thin line. 

Taruk's face scrunched in thought, as he looked at Hwan carefully. “No, you look like a person. But your face kind of makes me think of a -”

“We talked about rhetorical questions, Taruk.” The slender man groaned, rubbing at his temple, as though to ward off a headache. “What do you want?” 

The boy pulled his knees up, and settled cross-legged, gripping his ankles excitedly. “Can we have a swing? Zhi told me how he had a swing when he was little, and I've never seen a swing, and the big tree in the garden would be great for one, Zhi says, so can we have one, please, please, _please_ can we have one?” 

Amon had never had a swing either, actually, so he could sort of understand his excitement. Not only that, he got the impression the boy had never been able to play at all. To him, a swing was a big deal. 

Hwan seemed to consider it, crossing his arms. “I could ask, I suppose. I don't see the harm.” 

“Thank you!” He sprang up off the cushion and wrapped his arms around Hwan with enthusiasm. Hwan seemed a little put off by it, but he patted the boy's head anyway. “You're the best Hwan!”

“Of course I am. Now release me.” Hwan ordered, and Taruk obeyed, sitting back down. “We're going to go see Baraz now, so go back to sleep.”

“Mm'kay.” He agreed, crawling back into his bed. 

With surprising affection, Hwan pulled the covers up over him, including the fur at the bottom of the bed. It was cold in the house, Amon thought, watching. “I'll have one of the servants bring a hot iron for the bed, alright?” 

“Thank you Hwan.” He yawned, looking for all the world like the puppy Hwan described him as. “Love you.” 

“Who doesn't?” Hwan asked, tossing his head as they left. He shut the door quietly behind him before speaking again. “Great, now I have to convince Reza to put a swing in the yard.” He led Amon down the hall, presumably to Baraz's room, whoever he was. “He's just so...I mean...at least the rest of us had childhoods, you know? Taruk's been in a house since he was small. It's not fair, and I don't say that often. Your nation is screwed up, has anyone ever told you that?” 

“Yes. Often.” Off the top of his head, he could name at least five people this week, and that wasn't counting Penna's usual rant about sexism and what ever other -isms had made her angry that particular week. “At least you're being kind to him.” Hwan shrugged. “Will it be hard, to convince him?” 

“Who, Reza?” It was the way he said his name, the way an unconscious smile had already started to warm his face, that told Amon what he didn't want to know. “No, not if I ask nicely, and I wait until after I've brushed his hair. He goes all soft and pliable after that.” The smile turned sly. “And I wouldn't mind having a swing. I liked them, when I was young.” 

“I never had one.” Amon said, shaking his head. “My father didn't like us wasting time by playing when we could be training.” He was still uncomfortable when he thought about Taruk, so small and strange. “What kind of man wants someone who looks like that?” 

Hwan frowned at him. “Zhi is only about sixteen or so. Maybe seventeen, if I had to guess. He's an appropriate age.” 

Amon did not like the sound of that. Bad enough for someone as young as Taruk to be in this profession, but another boy in a Triad was somehow worse. At least Taruk's job was legal. 

Baraz's room, once they were admitted, was done in reds and golds to show his nationality. He was beautiful, even Amon had to admit, as lovely as a doll. He was also almost completely silent, as Amon gave him a check up. He suspected his bruising was from his skin being so fair, not from excessive force, at least. 

“So,” Hwan asked, inspecting his nails. “What's Bao like in bed?” 

The Fire Nation man leveled a look at him that had even Amon withdrawing. His eyes were the most intense gold he had ever seen, bright as a coin. “He likes to watch me.” He said, and Amon frowned in confusion. “He got too excited though. He fucked me on the floor.” That explained the bruising on his back, at least. Baraz had no reaction to anything he had just said, but Hwan did, recoiling and looking around the room warily. 

“Where?” He pulled his trailing robe up to hover above his bare feet. Amon smirked at that. As fussy as Hwan was, he was still Earth Kingdom. 

Baraz hitched his chin at a spot by his bed, and Hwan relaxed. 

When they were done with him and back in the hall, it was just as two servants were leaving Hwan's room. They nodded respectfully to him, and he re-entered, with Amon on his heels. “Is there no one else?” Amon asked, curious.

Hwan shrugged. “No one has complained to me. We're used to taking care of ourselves, Amon. And Mercy of La isn't the only clinic in the city.” He supposed that was true, but there really weren't enough of them, as far as he was concerned. 

Reza was moving the go board off the table, carefully, so as not to disturb the pieces. “You had better not use this as a chance to cheat.” Hwan warned him, but Reza just scowled, the bad side of his face twisting horribly when he did so. When Reza didn't sit, but instead made for the door, Hwan actually frowned and stopped him. “Aren't you going to eat? I ordered miso with eggplant for you.” 

The scarred man seemed torn. “I have to go. Business.” He was being deliberately vague, Amon thought, since he was here and Reza didn't know him. “I'll be back late tonight, maybe.”

It was like he wasn't even there, the way Hwan looked at Reza. “Come to my room. The bed in yours is awful.” 

“Alright.” He replied, offhand, and was gone, out into the dark hallway. 

Hwan shut the door with a clack, his shoulders slumped in obvious disappointment. 

Amon watched him, as he busied himself with the dishes, setting everything out for the two of them. He hadn't ordered much, the meal intended to be a light filler, so it wasn't as though Reza leaving wasted anything. 

“Do I need to give you a check up as well?” He dared to ask.

“No.” It was very decided sounding.

He considered that, before speaking again. “You're not having sex, are you?” 

Hwan's expression was almost sad. “No. Reza never touches me, if he can help it.” It was the way he said it that made Amon fearful. “Not that I want to, don't get me wrong. He could at least pretend to be interested though. It's insulting.” 

“Of course.” Amon wasn't sure if Hwan believed that. The man was an excellent liar, and it was possible that the talent extended even to lying to himself. Amon didn't believe it at all though. Not with the way he seemed almost hurt by it.

They sat down to eat, Amon enjoying the miso with eggplant that had been for Reza. It was good, and he ate all of it, Hwan declining when he offered him some. He encouraged Amon to try the dangmyeon, some kind of meat and vegetables worked into the noodles, but Amon didn't like it. He did like the mochi though. 

A pot of chai had been ordered, along with the black tea. When Hwan didn't touch it, he figured it must have been for Reza. Hwan hadn't even asked the scarred man what kind he wanted. He had already known. 

“So, how have you been, Amon?” He asked. “How's your fighter?” 

“He's fine. I met his parents.” Amon replied, a little flame of happiness and pride still burning over that at least. There was a little bit of fear mixed in as well though, if he was honest, fear that he would be found out by someone other than Nita, that his fighter would _know_. “They liked me.”

“I'm told that's important in a relationship.” Hwan rolled his eyes, chin in hand. “Not that I would know, of course. Only relationships I've been in have been an exchange.” He was chewing on a piece of his hair as he spoke, a very weird habit that Amon was sure was bad for his hair. “You have to get back now?” 

Amon nodded regretfully. “I'm on shift today. I'll see you later, alright?”

“Don't be a stranger.” He called mournfully through his smile. Despite the expression, Amon thought he really did mean it. He seemed lonely. Maybe that was why he was clinging to Reza's companionship, he rationalized. Because he was alone and Reza was paying him some attention. “Be safe.” 

In the entryway, the guard, Bao, was stretched out on his back now, arms under his head. He was unusually lanky for an earthbender. In Amon's experience, earthbenders relied on strong bodies for their bending. 

He peeked at Amon as he sat on the floor, and put his boots back on, showing dark eyes. “Did you look at Baraz? I think I might have been a little too rough with him last night.” 

“He's fair-skinned. Running into a table would bruise him badly.” Amon explained, not sure why he cared enough to set this man's mind more at ease. He didn't want to anger him, he supposed, and risk that anger being taken out on one of the workers. “I healed him though. He's fine.” 

“Good.” He was unusually still too. Earthbenders were steady, but not like this. Bao was boneless on the couch, not tensed at all. No wonder he had fooled Amon into thinking he was genuinely sleeping. “So, they paying you in services or something?” 

He scowled in response. “Hwan is my friend. And even if he wasn't, I heal them because it's my job. Not for any kind of _service_.” 

“No need to get so bent out of shape, healer. I was just making conversation.” Bao didn't raise his voice, or really react at all. “I like to know who is going to be in and out of the house. Especially whoever is making visits to Hwan. Reza will put my head on a stake if anything happens to his pet fox.” 

Now Amon reacted, despite his best efforts. “They're not pets.” 

Bao, for his part, didn't rise to the bait at all. “Better he's Reza's pet than just another whore, you have to admit. Our other house got hit. Half our girls are in the hospital, the other half are still hiding in their rooms.” Amon's eyes widened in shock. Did Hwan know? Not likely. He wondered if that was what the scarred man had been running off to handle. “Even if that happens here, Hwan will be safe, or as safe as he can be. No one wants Reza after them.”

_They earn those tattoos._

Amon could believe that people were scared of Reza. He could believe that very easily. 

“Does the other house need help?” 

Bao still didn't move. Amon had never seen anybody hold so utterly still for so long. “There were waterbenders there already. It was the Red Monsoon, so it was lucky we had the twins and Lana nearby.” There was a moment of quiet, as Amon stood to grab his parka. It was still damp, the thinning cloth not repelling the water as well it should. 

“Is Hwan really safer, as Reza's?” Amon hated to ask, hated to even consider the idea. 

“I already told you that.” Bao said, still unmoving, his eyes closed again. 

The bench was stone, Amon noticed for the first time. Stone, and connected to the stone tile floor. His feet were bare against it, as were his arms in his sleeveless vest. That was how he was monitoring everything, Amon realized. He was feeling through the stone when people entered, probably all the way outside, when they stepped onto the stone path. 

_“Bao is a fan of the school of deception.”_ That was what Reza had said, and now Amon saw he was right. Bao was only pretending to be lazy. In reality, he was completely aware of everything around them. 

Amon had never seen an earthbender work like that. He didn't even know they could. “Is this house in danger?” Hwan could probably handle himself, if it came down to it, but what about Taruk? Baraz? Everyone else? He didn't know what they were capable of, if they could defend themselves at all, especially if it was benders attacking. He'd noticed that none of the workers were benders, and he could guess that wasn't an accident, but right now, it could cost the Triad more than if they had let some be able to fight back. 

The earthbender made no movement whatsoever, but under Amon's feet, the tiles shifted. 

That answered that question. 

Amon pulled the parka on, the inside dry, thankfully, then the chinook and his gloves. He left the warm foyer and stepped out into the entryway, then out through the curtain into the garden. 

Overhead, the snow was still falling. 

He huddled into himself, and went back to the clinic. 

-

The moon was waning, overhead, and he felt the pull of her fading with it. He could bend during a new moon even, but that didn't mean it didn't still have an effect on him. 

He put scented wood into the hibachi in the room, and knelt on a prayer rug. 

“It worked.” He said. “I helped her. I reversed the damage done, using bloodbending.” He felt uneasy, speaking the word aloud. “Is that what you wanted me to do? Show the world that bloodbending is not always evil?” 

Amon was confused about the whole thing, honestly. He knew what he wanted to do, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel like it was somehow wrong. “The most famous bloodbenders, Hama and Yakone, they twisted your gift into evil. Hama used it to escape her captors, and I understood that. But what she did to those villagers could not be excused. Just like Yakone cannot ever be excused.” 

Overhead, and in front of him, they were silent. 

“You gave me this ability. You allowed it to be passed on to Tarrlok and me.” Why else would they do that, if they had no real purpose? “I don't think you meant this to be a curse to me. I think you want me to change things. I think you want me to change a lot of things.

“I was raised to believe that being a waterbender was a blessing from you. You love all of us though, I know. You see how your people are being oppressed here, by these Triads, by the hypocrites on the Council. The ones who can't fight back and have no one to fight for them.” 

Still, only silence.

“I don't know what I can do. I'm only one person.” He looked up at the moon. “But I am powerful. You bestowed a great gift onto me. You want me to use it. To help people like Nita. To save people like Hwan. To stand beside people like Pasook, and people like Yasu.” 

He watched her for a moment, the scent of the wood cloying in the air.

“I just don't know how you want me to do it.” 

As always, his spirits gave no audible answer. 

-

Amon was still waiting for his answer when he and Penna were making a house call, three days later. The daughter of one of Kanna's friends was in the eight month of her pregnancy, and she hadn't been having an easy one. 

He started to take her vitals, while Penna asked her the usual questions, but both of them were uneasy about the visit from the start, no matter what the woman's answers were. Ning was pale and sweating, her skin clammy to the touch, her pulse wrong and breathing labored. 

Frightened at his own daring, Amon placed a hand on her swollen belly, then turned to her sharply. “Ning, are you having pain?” Under his hands, the insides of her body swelled and ebbed with what could only be a contraction. A hard one.

“No,” Ning protested shaking her hand as she tried to pull away from Amon in vain, Penna stopping her. “No, it's too soon, it's not happening.” She was half-sobbing the words as she struggled.

“Oh, for fuck's sake!” Penna swore, lifting Ning's dress, and pushing aside her undergarments. 

There was blood. 

“How long have you been having contractions?” Penna demanded, her voice calm again. 

“No,” Ning moaned, falling back. “No, no contractions. It's too soon.” 

Penna swore again, under her breath, “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” She muttered. “Amon, she's in labor, no doubt about it. Her water broke for sure, and the blood isn't a good sign. She's just at thirty-four weeks, so hopefully the baby is okay, but there's no stopping it now.” 

“No!” Ning shouted. “No, I'm not, no, it's not time, it's not time, stay in there, please, no,” 

Amon had had enough of Ning's insanity, especially if she was in labor. Her baby was at risk now, and she needed to focus. So he stepped forward, cupped her face, and forced her to look him in the eye. 

“Listen to me very carefully,” Amon said, keeping his tone even and quiet as he looked into her teary eyes. “You are in labor. You have obviously been in labor for quite awhile. You could have caused irreparable harm to your child with this denial. You are already in premature labor, which is dangerous. So when I say that Penna and I are you and your child's hope of surviving this day, you need to believe that.” 

Ning stared up at him, her eyes red-rimmed as tears streamed down her face. “I believe you.” She said distantly.

“You need to do everything we tell you to do. You need to answer every question we ask you honestly, or you could lose this baby. Am I clear?”

“Yes.” She answered, in a small voice, right before her face screwed up in pain. Another contraction then.

Amon turned to Penna. “How far along is she?” 

“Oh, she's like a second away from being ready to push. Jeez, lady, you got damn lucky we came when we did, you know that?” 

Amon silenced her with a look, because her commentary _was not needed_ right this moment. 

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and pressed his palms against her bared stomach. Carefully, he scanned first her, then, with a delicate touch, he felt the baby. As soon as he did, he was glad he had. “Penna,” he said, keeping his voice low. “The baby is in distress. We have to get it out, now.” 

“How do you know?” She asked, her voice just as low. 

Amon did not look at her as he answered. “Because I can feel its heartbeat. Its wrong, and it won't last through labor. We need to cut her open.” 

Penna, for her part, did not stop what she was doing. There was no shocked reaction, no outcry against him, for all that he had just admitted to her. “Okay. Well, I know the idea, but I've never done it myself. Can you use it for this?” 

There was no question what 'it' was. Penna was not an idiot.

“I can try.” He answered honestly, and she nodded, as she grabbed her bag and opened it. They pulled more snow in from outside into their metal bowl, and brought it to a boil with a quick movement. Penna used it to sterilize their instruments, while Amon pressed his palms to Ning's belly again, and tried to control both her heart and the baby's. 

“What's going on?” Ning croaked, now so pale she blended in with the bed sheet, her hair soaked with sweat. “Do I need to push?” 

“We have to perform surgery, Ning.” He explained. “Your baby is in danger. We will do our best to save it, and you, I swear. You need to stay still for us though, and stay calm.”

Ning's head rolled back. “Okay.” She breathed into the pillows. 

Penna was looking at Amon fearfully. “You ready?”

“We don't have a choice.” He reminded her, and she nodded. “I can control the bleeding, I think. I'm keeping the baby's heartbeat steady, but it's too much for me to keep up.” In truth, he was too afraid to keep this up long. The baby's heart was still beating on its own, but not correctly. It needed to be out of her, the sooner the better. “You need to do this.”

“Okay.” She nodded. 

And then she made the first incision. 

Ning cried out in pain, but held still. Dividing his concentration, Amon stayed true to his word, and controlled the bleeding as best as possible while keeping the baby's heartbeat stable. 

Penna remained quiet the whole time, biting her lip as she worked. Under them, Ning was gasping, sweating horribly, but there was nothing they could do for her while they were trying to save hers and the baby's life. Amon was just barely keeping a hold on his two tasks, and honestly, Penna was about to be on her own.

He had never done this before, controlled a heart. There was so much going in the small muscle, and it was requiring more and more of his effort, especially during the waning moon, during the day. He was out of practice and weak from it, and it was choosing now to show. 

His concentration grew strained. “Please tell me you're almost done.” 

“Focus it on the baby.” She commanded, so he did. 

And then it was over, as Penna lifted the infant from Ning's womb, a tiny red creature that made a noise more similar to a trembling seagull than a baby. “I've got her, Amon,” Penna reassured him, scooping up water from another bowl. “Take care of Ning.”

He nodded, and took more water to begin healing the incisions, but right as he did, Ning suddenly gasped, and with shock, he realized her heart beat was faltering. “No,” he breathed, pressing a hand over her chest, while keeping one over her healing wounds. 

He could fix this, he commanded himself. He would fix this, he would save her. He forced her heart to keep pumping, bringing it back up to where it should be, while he kept healing the bloody mess that was her abdomen. 

Penna could not leave the baby right now, he knew. A premature baby who had been in distress needed all of her attention. He had to do both, on his own. 

_Yue_ , he prayed. _Tui and La, help me, now, I'm at the end of my strength._ He could feel his legs shaking as he pleaded with them, and it was with regret he had to leave the open wound in her abdomen to focus on her failing heart. There was no more open bleeding, he had closed all the cuts. The full repair of muscle and skin could be done by someone else later, but Ning needed to be alive for that. He had to keep her heart going, and an adult's heart was much more tiring than the baby's. 

He pressed both hands over her chest, and poured every last bit of strength he had left into his bending, praying not just to his spirits, but every spirit he could think of, that it would be enough. It had to be enough, he hoped. 

The last action he managed before he blacked out was to get away from Ning, so he didn't fall across her. 

By the time he came to, the room he was in was dark, and Penna was sitting over him. “Hey,” she said, offering him some water. “Welcome back.” 

He took a sip, all he could quite get up the energy for, keeping his head back on the pillow it was on. He was lying on the couch in the living room of Ning's house, he realized. He wanted to ask, but found he still couldn't talk. Thankfully, Penna was perceptive enough to know what he wanted to know.

“They're both okay. Ning is going to be laid up for a bit, and her daughter isn't out of the woods yet, but I think they're both going to be okay. Pasook is with them. I sent a runner for him.” 

Amon waited, not sure what he could expect. He knew in his heart that Penna would never turn her back on him, but he couldn't help but fear it anyway. 

“In that room,” Penna paused, bit her lip. “You were bloodbending.” It wasn't a question, or even in need of a confirmation from him. Penna was a good enough waterbender that she could tell what he was doing. “I've never seen it done before. I could sort of feel it, on the periphery. You did it during the waning moon too.” She seemed almost impressed.

She pressed a cold cloth to his forehead, for which he was thankful. He still felt faint, his ability pushed to the point of utter exhaustion. “I told Pasook. I had to. He could see the blood everywhere, and you were passed out. I couldn't lie to him.” Amon accepted that. Pasook was going to find out, either way. He was almost glad it had been Penna who had told him. He wasn't sure he could have. 

“I'm sorry.” He croaked, after he'd had some more water. “Penna, please,”

“Don't you dare be sorry.” She hissed, to his surprise. “If you hadn't done that, Ning wouldn't be in there picking out names for a daughter. We'd be washing her for her funeral. For both their funerals.” She smoothed his damp hair away from his face. “I don't care what anyone says about it. It was the right thing to do in there.” 

“But I,” 

“I don't care.” She repeated fiercely. “You know I don't. You and Pasook are my family now, and I will love you no matter what. And protect you. I won't tell anyone.” She frowned. “Except Pasook. But I needed him to get down here and lie for us. No way my ass could cover this up.” 

He would have laughed, if he wasn't so tired. 

Someone opened a door behind them, and then Pasook was leaning over the back of the couch. 

“Hey.” He said, his braids falling forward to dangle. 

“Hello.” Amon replied, waiting for whatever Pasook was about to say. 

The other man poked him in the forehead. “You look like shit, seriously.” Penna hissed “ _Pasook_ ” with indignation, but Pasook kept talking. “You're not supposed to bend like that on a waning moon. Even I know that.” 

Amon looked up at his friend, and closed his eyes. “I'll try to remember that.” 

Penna stood from his side. “I'm going to go check on the baby. No offense Pasook,” 

“None taken.” The other man waved her off. “You're more experienced with babies anyway.” 

When she was gone, Pasook took her spot, sitting beside Amon. He gave him some more water, Amon too tired to lift the cup still. Either Pasook or Penna had mixed the supplement Kanna gave out on bad shifts into it, to get him some energy, so he was starting to feel better, would be well enough to walk soon, but not to bend. 

Pasook didn't look at him, as he slumped against the couch on the floor. “I think of you like my brother, you know. A really annoying, preachy brother, but my brother.” He handed the new drink to Amon, which now tasted strongly of the supplement. He had enough energy to lift the cup himself though, so it was working. “Nothing is going to change that, okay?” 

Amon nodded in gratitude. “Okay.” 

“Good. Now we've talked, I've reminded you that you don't suck, so Penna will shut up.” He was doing something with his hands, and as Amon sat up, the room spinning a bit, but steadying after a second, he handed Amon a slice of apple. It felt good in his stomach, and they each ate half while Penna sat in with Ning. 

By the time that Ning's husband and family had arrived home, the place was cleaned up of any evidence of what had happened in the house. He was only told there had been complications, but it was all alright now. Everything was fine, no cause to worry. None at all. 

Even more relatives arrived, to welcome their new addition, including Ning's mother, a healer. So the three of them gathered their things and quietly slipped out into the night. Yasu was waiting for them, unsurprisingly. It seemed he and Pasook were joined at the hip now. It was without a word that he crouched down, and let Amon clamber up onto his back, his body warm in the cold. 

“You're lucky you're still kind of skinny.” He joked weakly. Did he know too? He looked at Pasook, asking without words, and his friend shook his head. Yasu wasn't stupid though, and Amon realized Pasook had needed help to clean up the bedroom while Penna was taking care of him. And he hadn't gotten on the couch on his own. Yasu had to have guessed something big had happened. 

“We all need a meal.” Penna complained. “I'm starving. I hope the canteen has miso and rice.” 

“It usually does.” Amon reminded her. 

When they rounded the corner to the clinic though, Yasu froze. 

Curious, Amon lifted his head, to see Lieu standing by the steps. He was watching them with narrowed eyes, a hard expression on his face that Amon didn't know how to read. “Yasu?” He asked, wondering why he was holding still. “What's wrong?” 

“Nothing.” He said, and kept walking forward, Pasook and Penna on either side of them. 

“Put him down.” His fighter said, when they got close enough. “Now.” 

Yasu hefted Amon up again defiantly. “He can't walk up the steps by himself. He's tired.” 

His fighter narrowed his eyes. “His friends will help him.” 

“I'm his friend.” Yasu replied evenly. “So I'll help him up.” 

“You'll get your hands off him, is what you'll do.” 

The supplement had started to wear off already, with the moon so dark, and Amon so exhausted, but he was aware enough to know that something was horribly wrong. Yasu and Lieu knew each other, that much was obvious, and it wasn't a good kind of relationship. That tone, that look in his fighter's eyes. He knew what it was, and he didn't want to look at it.

“Put me down.” He ordered, and Yasu let him slide down. Careful to keep himself touching Yasu the whole time, he moved in front of him protectively. He still felt a little shaky and lightheaded, especially standing, but he _could_ stand. “What's going on?” 

“Go inside, Amon.” Lieu said, his eyes still looking past him to Yasu. He was focused on him with that look, that expression that was promising so much, none of it good. “You and your friends, go inside.” 

“He is my friend, so explain. Now.” Something was _wrong_. He could feel it. 

Lieu sneered at Yasu. “So this is where you've been hiding? With the healers?” 

“Why is he hiding?” Amon asked, when Yasu said nothing. 

“Because your boy there wants my head on a stick.” Yasu explained from behind him, but he didn't sound accusing. Scared and resigned, more than anything else. “I can't say I blame him, either.” 

Amon looked over his shoulder at Yasu. He was looking back at his fighter. He seemed tired, and expectant, as he looked at the man. “Why?”

“Because this is the little fuck that killed Nanook.” Lieu almost growled. “Him and his two friends.” 

He turned around to face his friend fully, as he met Amon's eyes, and nodded. Beside him, Penna's eyes widened, but Pasook just reached out for him, took his hand. There was no hesitation in the movement, no moment of indecision for him, just like there had been none with Amon. Pasook loved without doubt.

“Only it's just me left, isn't it?” Yasu replied. “I heard what happened to Tai and Qing.” 

Lieu smiled. “Did you now? That why you went and hid under some healer's apron?” 

“I came here before you strung them up.” He shook his head. “I came here because I knew what I had done was wrong. I came here to atone, of my own free will. Not because I was scared of you.” He grinned a little. “I'm pretty fucking scared of you though, have to say. Everyone's scared of you though.” 

Amon narrowed his eyes in confusion, and again turned, so now he was perpendicular to them both, and could see them. “What do you mean by that?” He asked. Yasu smiled, just a little, as Lieu's expression became somehow darker. 

“I thought so.” Yasu said, to Lieu. “He doesn't know anything, does he? You must not have any ink yet, because he saw mine. He knows what it means. Zolt was always pretty damn smart. Smart enough to keep you clean, huh?” 

“What does Zolt have to do with any of this?” Amon asked. “What are you talking about?”

“He's just running his damn mouth. He won't be doing it for long.” Lieu stepped forward, but so did Amon, blocking him from advancing. He looked down at Amon, perplexed.

Amon held his eyes, as the pieces slowly started to fit together, Yasu's words about _ink_ doing a lot to speed up the process. “Yasu, what are you talking about?” 

“Lightning Bolt Zolt is the head of the Triple Threat Triad. And your boy there?” Yasu smiled again, satisfied, but sad. “He's his left-hand lieutenant.” 

When Amon didn't look at him, he felt Lieu reach for him, but he stepped out of the way. “Amon,”

“Pasook.” Amon said. “Take Yasu inside. Penna, you too. Go.” Pasook did as he asked, trusting Amon to be able to handle this, but Penna lingered, looking worried. “I'll be fine. Get inside.” 

She nodded. “We'll be watching.” It was a warning to Lieu as much as it was an assurance for Amon.

Lieu watched Yasu go, but didn't move. He clearly wanted to make a threat, but wasn't going to, not with him there. 

Amon waited until they were all safely inside before he spoke. “It's true. I know it is. So don't lie.” Because it all fit so well. The fights, the way he and Zolt acted together, the way that Water Tribesman at the fight had so quickly backed down from him, his tease about being the wrong kind of people. Even the way they were treated so respectfully in restaurants, waiters pouring for him, bowing deep to him. 

How had he been so incredibly stupid? So blind? How had he not suspected anything? 

“Let me explain.” Lieu said, holding his hands out in a placating manner. 

“Explain then.” Amon said, his own voice surprisingly even. He wasn't even angry, his exhaustion from before and the shock of the information numbing him, perhaps. “Make me understand.” 

“After Nanook died, I told you, I went looking for a fight. I found Zolt. Me and him got into it, we ended up in that bar. Zolt had just started forming Triple Threat, and Reza was still recovering. Reza is his right hand, he's a firebender.” Amon knew very well who Reza was, and suddenly _“a little fox with too much mouth on him”_ made so much sense. “He offered me a chance to find the fuckers who did it, and get them back.” He seemed desperate. “I wanted revenge. I owed Nanook that, or he can't find rest.” 

Amon listened with a kind of serene horror, as with every word, Lieu broke him into smaller and smaller pieces. “That's a Fire Nation belief.” He said, his own voice foreign to his ears. “That if the murderer still lives, the ghost can't move on.” He had learned it somewhere. He couldn't remember. It didn't matter. 

“Yeah. It's my belief. I'm a mutt, remember?” Again, Lieu raised a hand to touch Amon, maybe to pull his side tail.

With a vicious movement he hadn't known himself capable of, he shoved at the hand, shoved Lieu, away from him. 

For a moment, he stared at Amon with wide eyes. “Amon, come on, please,”

“Don't touch me.” He said. 

The silence between them was heavy with a thousand and one things that Amon couldn't categorize or even understand. He didn't even want to. 

“Do you,” Amon tried. “Do you really think that killing Yasu will do anything? Yasu is a medic now. He saves lives. He works as hard as I do. Every day. To gain atonement. Isn't that better for this world than another dead body?” 

Lieu didn't look at him. 

“And what about the people you've killed?” Amon asked, because he knew that was true too. “What about their ghosts?”

“They're not my problem.” Lieu said decisively. “My problem is that bastard in there, and that he's still breathing.” 

Amon shook his head. “I will stop you. I will protect him.”

“Damn it Amon,” Lieu grabbed him forcefully, by the elbow, pulling him close. He was too tired to fight him off, too weak to bend still. The fact he was still standing amazed him, frankly. “He killed my brother! Do you not get that? You're supposed to be on _my_ side, not his.”

His words were angry, but his voice was as cold as ice. As cold as the storm that had nearly killed Amon, all those years ago. 

He stared up at him, and wondered at the feeling in his chest, as he spoke, “I thought I loved you.” He had believed it so strongly, had felt like everything he had with this man was all he'd been searching for, had truly thought that whatever it had been that had sat between them was real. He'd thought it was love. 

Lieu's face fell. “No, you love me.” He tugged Amon in against his chest, using his free hand to force Amon to look at him. “You love me, you said it, you can't take it back just because you're angry, that's not how it works.”

Amon shook his head. “I'm not angry.” He might be later, when he wasn't so bone tired. “And I never loved you. I don't know you.” He escaped Lieu's hold, the man's arms going slack at his words. “I don't want to know you.” 

He was just looking at Amon, his mouth in a tight line, like he was waiting for Amon to take it back, to say something else, change his mind. 

“Stay away from this clinic, and me. Or I will protect my family from you.” 

“Amon, I wouldn't hurt you,” Lieu breathed. “I love you.” 

“No.” Amon said. “You don't lie to people you love. Not like you lied.” _Not like I lied._ “You don't even know me. You just wanted someone in your bed.” _“I saw you standing there, and I wanted you.”_. “Go, now. Penna's probably thinking about whether or not to call the police. I bet you don't want to talk to them.” 

Lieu was still looking at him, his expression crushed. “Why won't you understand?” 

“Because there's nothing in you worth understanding.” Amon said, as cold as he could manage. 

Then he was up the steps, and in the clinic dorms, where the three were waiting, Yasu sitting on a bench, head in hands, while Pasook rubbed his shoulder. Behind him, Penna locked the door firmly.

“Amon, I shouldn't have done that.” Yasu said, looking up at him with damp eyes. “I thought it could be my shield between me and him, but then he kept talking and I just, I couldn't look at him, he looks just like his brother, and I couldn't,” he buried his face back in his hands. “I'm so sorry for all of it. It was an accident. We didn't mean to kill him. I'm _sorry_.” 

“I know.” Amon said. “I know you're sorry.” And he knew that no matter how sorry you were, you could never undo the crime. It would always be there. All they could do was try to outweigh the bad with the good. “Thank you for telling me.” It was better he knew now, he thought. Better now than later, before his association with Lieu brought something bad to the clinic, to his friends.

“I shouldn't have done it like that. I should have told you that night when I saw you two together, I just got scared. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” 

Amon waved him off, too weary and weakened to care anymore. “I'm tired. I'm going to bed.” 

“You need to eat.” Penna insisted. “What you did today drained you. You have to eat or you'll be sick.” 

Pasook took Amon's arm. “So bring something up. We're going upstairs.” 

She did as Pasook said, and after he had eaten, Pasook crawled into bed with him. He didn't touch him, just stayed beside him. After Yasu and Penna left, leaving them alone, he whispered into the dark room, “I'm sorry Amon. I know you cared about him.” 

“It's not your fault.” 

“I know that. I'm just sorry he's a jerk.” He shifted on the bed, snuffling. “What you did today, for that woman and her baby, that was cool. I don't care what people say. Can't afford to.” He poked Amon a little, like he was trying to get his attention. “You were pretty badass today. You saved that crazy lady, who by the way, makes me look brilliant, because who denies they're in labor, seriously, you saved Yasu from getting killed by that guy, and you told him to fuck off. Even though you love him. So don't start to go all apart, alright? Because you? You're awesome.” 

Amon laughed into his pillow. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah, well. One of us has to not be depressing all the time.” 

“I suppose.” Amon agreed.

The exhaustion of the day brought sleep too quickly for him to give in and start crying. 

When he woke though, his pillow was wet.


	14. Interlude: Reza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where does Lieu go after the fight with Amon? 
> 
> And where is Reza going? It's different when we know the truth about someone before we fall into bed with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TECHNICALLY STILL LIEUSDAY

Hanging by his knees from the branch, Reza tightened the last rope around it. He was upside down, the position allowing for a clear view of the knot he was working. Up on top would leave him too much awkward darkness. 

He tugged on it to be sure, but it was a formality. He'd spent too much time on ships to worry about a knot. Using his good arm, he swung down, and dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch. He supposed he was lucky his legs and hips had come out of the incident with no damage, but honestly, it was a little hard to count anything lucky about that shit. 

He still couldn't believe he'd just put up a damn swing in a whorehouse, because he had better shit to do. Then Hwan looked at him, with that soft, pleased smile on his face, directed at just him, just Reza, and he could believe it a little easier. He was such a fucking idiot for that smile. 

“Happy?” He asked, looking away before he did something stupid. 

“Yes, thank you.” Hwan said, sitting on it, facing Reza. It was a wide, board swing, like Hwan had insisted, big enough for two to sit side-by-side on it. “Taruk will be pleased.”

Reza scowled. “I didn't do it for the puppy.” He reminded him. “You wanted the stupid thing.” He hated himself for even pointing it out, but there was no point in any kind of facade between them. Hwan knew he had Reza wrapped around his finger, just like Lieu had warned, he had to. “You're too old for a playground.” 

“So I am.” Hwan agreed, pushing the swing with the balls of his feet. “You're older.” That was true, Reza thought, as he lit a cigarette. “Why aren't you married?” 

“Because I don't see the point.” He replied, not liking the question. “I don't like women, I don't like most men, and I don't like kids.” That was all true. Unlike Zolt, who had been after everything breathing when they turned about twelve, Reza had just carried on as always. Occasionally, a slim form with a smirk had caught his eye, but none of them had ever been like Hwan, who was as sharp as a knife, while still having that softness he wanted. 

Of course he had to be a whore. 

Reza exhaled smoke. “Zolt's not married either.” 

Hwan huffed. “Shin isn't even old enough to give consent to marriage.” He didn't sound like he was reprimanding Zolt for it, so much as laughing at him. Reza couldn't condemn him for that. He felt like laughing at Zolt sometimes, a twenty-eight year old man taking up with a sixteen year old kid who, if he was being fair, wasn't really a kid anyway. “Besides, he's not the type. He'll be monogamous, I'm sure, or risk Shin's wrath, but he'll never marry. Or if he does, it'll be for connection, money.” 

“But me?”

The man smiled at him, the swing spinning a little with the unequal distribution of weight. “You're the type who marries, is all. And then I'll just be your affair, your entirely celibate affair, because you're not the type to sleep around either.” 

Reza shrugged. “No. I'm not.” 

Hwan kept smiling at him, pushing the swing still. “But you're not married. You're not even involved with anyone.” 

“Yeah, well, as you've so eloquently pointed out, as often as you can, I'm a little fucking terrifying.” High-up Triad, scarred the way he was, inked the way he was, and with his reputation, fuck, he wasn't even allowed in public bathhouses anymore. No one wanted the association. He didn't blame people for staying away. “What are you getting at?”

The man shrugged innocently, and twirled the swing a little. “You're not married, is all.” Again, he twirled. “Sit, please, and try to not be so serious for all of five seconds.” 

He made a face at Reza, that impish one that made Reza's stomach twist uncomfortably, so he sat down on the swing, facing the opposite way so that his good side was beside Hwan. “Why did you even want a swing?”

Hwan hummed in thought for a moment. “When I was very young, and my mother was still alive, her and my father liked to garden together. So my father hung a big swing, like this one, to keep Hye and me busy. Yun was always digging in the dirt like the little badger mole he is, and Sung was still in a basket.” 

When his hair was down like this, bound halfway down with a red ribbon, it softened his face considerably. He was still sharp-featured, still mischievous looking, but he was always less human seeming like this, especially in the morning mist, the grey light still only just highlighting the courtyard garden. It was all Reza could do to sit like this, their bodies just barely touching, as he listened.

“Hye and I were very similar children. People thought we were twins, for a long time. But then she got older, and she ended up being very beautiful.” He was almost lost, as he spoke, his green eyes not on Reza or really anything. He leaned against the thick rope, making it creak, more of his body now turned towards Reza. 

The longing in him took control of his mouth before his mind could interfere. “You ended up beautiful.” 

He smirked, but it was half-hearted. “To you, I suppose. That's not the general consensus.” 

Reza couldn't fight it, as his good hand rose up and touched him, the pads of his fingers brushing Hwan's cheek. Once he had done that though, it was too easy to cup his face in his good hand, his thumb brushing over the skin. “You are.” 

Hwan was looking at him with those eyes, analyzing him like he was the go board. “Why is this affair celibate, then?” Before Reza could snatch his hand away, Hwan grabbed it, forcing Reza to keep the contact. “Unlike you, I'm not half blind. You stare like you're two seconds away from shoving me up against the wall and taking me right there. And I'm obviously not saying no. So what's with you?” 

He thought about denying it, but Hwan had learned to read body language at the same age Reza had been trying to figure out how to even talk to people. There was no point. “You don't want me.” 

“Who said that?” Hwan asked, raising an eyebrow. “I certainly didn't when your little social club took over. I wanted to stab you with a hair pin then.”

“Nice.” Reza said with a frown. “Do you have hair pins that sharp?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?” Hwan teased, as Reza's hand slid down, to his neck. To anyone else, Reza's hand on their throat would be a frightening experience. To Hwan though, it was just a caress. That's all it would ever be too. “I don't want to stab you anymore though. Just you, mind.” 

“Just me?” His neck was smooth, like Reza had known it would be, and without giving himself time for second thoughts, he dragged his fingers through Hwan's soft hair. 

“You're the only one who treats us with any kind of decorum. And I like you, besides, even if you're terrible at pai sho.” The feel of Hwan's hair against his own skin was almost too much, as Hwan just sat there and let him do as he liked. “I won't say no, if you ask.” 

“You don't have a choice.” Reza reminded him, that dark thought souring the moment for him. He tried to draw away, but Hwan caught him, holding him by the wrist. 

“Are you planning on forcing me if I refuse to sleep with you?” He asked, calm as can be.

The disgust at the thought made him snap a hard “No,” that had Hwan smiling triumphantly. 

“Then I have a choice.” He took Reza's hand, and pressed it against his side. His robes were thin enough that he could almost feel him, could at least imagine what he would feel like. “I'm sure you've felt very honorable with your noble behavior, but you don't have to keep doing it.”

Reza was only a man, when it came down to it, and he had spent far too long watching Hwan and thinking about how warm his thighs would be against Reza's hips to even stand a chance against him and the smile on his face. “Can I kiss you?” He dared to ask. “I know you don't do that, but just once, and I won't ask again, I swear,” _Just once_.

“Idiot.” Hwan huffed, seeming amused. “Yes, you can kiss me. Just you though.” 

He used his good hand to tilt Hwan's face towards him, then leaned in and pressed his half-ruined mouth to Hwan's. Maybe he hadn't been as quick to sample everything like Zolt had, but he had done enough kissing to be able to do it well, even five years out of practice. Hwan had even less, he reminded himself, because he didn't do this with clients, he didn't let them cup the back of his head and sigh against their mouths. Just with Reza. 

Hwan slid closer, both arms wrapping around Reza's neck, depending on him to keep him balanced on the swing. Reza wrapped his good arm around Hwan's waist, his bad hand still gripping the rope, and wished to every spirit he could think of that they were doing this in Hwan's room, so he could put him in his lap already. 

He wanted to kiss his neck, so he did so, and Hwan made a pleased sound, his fingers clutching at Reza's shirt. “We should go inside.” He told Reza, and Reza was inclined to agree, but then Hwan's short nails dug into the back of his neck, and his self-control lapsed. Hwan wore his robes loose, so it was no trouble to get to his collarbone, press a kiss there, while using his good arm to tug the man in even tighter. “No,” Hwan argued, sounding annoyed. “I will not have sex outside, not even for you. I mean it, no.” 

The no was enough to make him stop, but Hwan looked so good with his mouth reddened, even if he was making that annoyed expression, that Reza couldn't help but kiss him again. “Reza,” Hwan cajoled, cupping his face with both hands and separating them. “If we can go inside, I can take my clothes off.” All those tantalizing glimpses he'd had so far, finally a whole picture. “I bet you don't even need anything else to get you hard. You can have me, right then, pin me down and take me like you want to.” Then he smiled mischievously, as always, and one hand slid down Reza's body to the front of his pants. “I think what you really want is for me to straddle you. Ride you. I'll even take my hair down for you, and you can kiss me all you like while your cock is in me. I feel so good inside, I promise, and you can find out. All you have to do is go up to my room.” 

A voice in Reza's head that was still somehow functioning rationally told him to get up already and do as Hwan said. 

He was just about to when Bao, with impeccable timing, interrupted, the slim earthbender standing on the bridge that crossed the man-made koi pond. “Wow, this is uncomfortable.” He said. “Okay, interrupting you is really the last thing I want to do, but you're needed.” Reza turned to glare at the man, as Hwan righted himself, fixing his clothing and smoothing his hair down. “You, as in Reza, not you, Hwan.” He clarified, as though it might be needed. “And uh, you can leave that undone. I don't mind.” He leered, as Hwan scowled.

“Is it important?” Reza would deal with Bao's lack of boundaries later, after he actually had a reason to be possessive. 

Bao shrugged. “Do you call Lieu being drunk and pissed off important?” He thumbed into the house. “Because he is. I think that guy he's been all stupid over dumped him. I couldn't really make out the details, due to him having his face down in the floor.” 

Reza sighed, and gently pushed Hwan aside so he could stand. “Put him in the Peony Room, and order some tea from the kitchen.” Bao went to do as he was told, while Hwan stood, wrapping his arms around himself as he approached Reza. “Later?” He asked regretfully. 

“Come to my room after.” Hwan answered, smiling, as he wrapped his arms around Reza's neck. “I can wait.” He kissed Reza on the mouth, too quick for him to follow up on, then walked away, a sway in his hips that had Reza groaning inwardly. Lieu had better be on the verge of suicide, he thought, or he was going to kill him himself. 

In the house, he found Lieu in the correct room. He was sitting at the table cross-legged, chin in hand. He was steady, but still clearly drunk, and had already gone through one cigarette, the ashtray containing the still-smoking one dog end. He was working on a second, clumsily raising it to his lips and taking too-deep inhales, exhaling out his nose and mouth. Despite Reza's annoyance at being interrupted, he felt sympathy now. Lieu seemed unbelievably sad in that moment, broken and defeated at last. 

“What'd you do?” He asked, taking a seat across from him, as a servant hurried in with a tray. The woman's hair was still bound in a scarf, her eyes tired, but alert, as she served them. “Don't,” he ordered, feeling bad for obviously rousing someone from sleep. “We can pour. Go back to bed.” 

“Thank you sir,” she bowed, almost to the floor, and scurried out, shutting the door. 

Lieu made a vague gesture with his hand that meant nothing to Reza, then folded the arm on the table and rested his head on it. “That little fuck I couldn't find, the last one, I found him. I fucking found him.” 

Reza had to lean over a bit to hear him. The damage to his right ear had impacted his ability to make out lower sounds, but he sort of got the gist. He didn't understand what exactly he was saying though. “Lieu, what are you talking about?” 

“Got one, then we got two, remember the second one? You helped me pull him up.” Reza had to think really hard to understand what the fuck Lieu was trying to tell him, as the man was apparently filling in half the conversation internally. 

But then it clicked for him, as he realized Lieu was talking about the Agni Kai hit from two years back. Reza still hadn't been able to bend with his bad arm yet, but he only needed his mouth, arm, and a length of pipe anyway. All Lieu needed was his hands and those damn kali sticks of his. 

He'd cracked the first one's skull, while Lieu chi-blocked the second. Lieu had hung him upside down and pulled him up, to dangle from the light post right in front of the Agni Kai's hangout. The second had been heavier, and already dying, so he'd helped Lieu pull him up beside his friend. 

Metal cords, attached to the metal poles. 

“Can you bend lightning again yet?” Lieu had asked him, a blank look in his eyes. 

Reza's good hand had crackled to life, as Lieu painted their new symbol on the building behind the strung-up Agni Kai's. The dying one had been silent and glassy-eyed, dripping blood on to the sidewalk. The chi-blocked one had been crying, sobbing through his gag. 

It had only taken one good burst of power to the pole. Reza had never actually been a particularly good bender. He had a lot of power, a _lot_ , but had been no good at the traditional forms. After his injury, any chance he'd ever had at getting better at them with age had been gone. Instead, he and Zolt had invented their own style, a stronger, more adaptable way that lacked fine forms, and instead focused on what they cared about: killing. 

One good burst of power, and their bodies seized and twitched. 

They were dead, and he and Lieu were gone, before the Agni Kai inside could get out the door to investigate the light show. 

Lieu had said there was one more, one he couldn't find. 

“You found the last one? Where the fuck was he?” They'd torn the city apart trying to find him, but it was like he'd vanished. No Agni Kai they'd caught knew where he was, or even if he was alive. No Red Monsoon would take the blame, claimed they had no idea who they were talking about. 

But there had been a third. Lieu had seen him, as he tried to save his stupid kid brother. 

“At a free clinic. He's a medic!” Lieu laughed, and Reza raised his eyebrow. “He's trying to _atone_.” He spat the word like a curse. “And I couldn't touch him.” 

Reza took a sip of his tea. “Why not?” 

“Because Amon was standing between me and him.” Lieu was letting the hand holding the cigarette hang over the table now, the ash falling on to the mats. “That little fuck told Amon everything. About this shit. About all this shit.” 

He was just barely following the story, but the name Amon rang a bell. “Amon? The healer?” The stone-faced young man with the grey-blue eyes, who visited Hwan. “The healer who comes here to see Hwan?” 

“Yeah. Savior of the downtrodden. That's Amon.” He sounded adoring, through his drunken slur. “The spirits talk to him, you know.” That sounded like Lieu's typical nonsense, so Reza ignored it. “I love him. But he says he doesn't love me now. That's not fair, he said it, he said he loved me, he did, and now he's, he's,” Lieu made an odd humming sound, and rolled his face into the crook of his elbow. “I wanted him to be mine. I was going to take care of him. I had people watching him and everything.” 

Reza groaned, and shook his head. “Lieu, tell me you didn't have a tail on him. That's fucking creepy.” 

Lieu made another odd sound, this one seeming to express frustration. “I hadn't told him yet. I was going to. But then that fuck told him, and now he won't talk to me. Stupid fucking bastard. I'll kill him. I'll kill him just like I killed his friends. He fucked it up. He fucked it all up for me.” 

The scarred man took the cigarette from Lieu, and put it out. Lieu's eyes were closed now, though he wasn't sleeping yet. “My dad said to be good to him.” 

“I'm sure.” Reza pulled him up, and slung Lieu's arm around his shoulder. Even with his bad arm and shoulder, he was strong enough to hold up Lieu's lanky form, as long as he helped Reza out. “Come on, you're going to bed.” 

Lieu grunted, but let Reza help him up and get him to the room for guests. There were a few futons already laid out in there, and he left Lieu on one. Lieu wasn't the type to throw up when he'd been drinking, so he wasn't too worried about it. 

He could go upstairs now, he realized, as Lieu started snoring noisily, like he always did when he was sleeping it off. He could go upstairs and slip into Hwan's room, finish what had finally started in the garden. 

The idea was tempting, but now that he didn't have Hwan pressed to him, he was having second thoughts. He decided to bathe first, get the cigarette smell off and give himself time to think. This wasn't a decision that he could make in the heat of the moment. It had to be weighed carefully, to see which side the balance favored. 

The bathroom was a large one, meant to accommodate multiple people if necessary, but he was the only one there. He picked the smaller tub, running the water cold, since he could heat it up with his body anyway. He didn't bother to put the cover on. 

The stools were stacked up against the wall neatly, as always. Reza took one, and sat it under one of the shower heads. Then he filled a bucket with water from the tap, and picked a soap. He showered first, to get his skin wet, then started scrubbing himself thoroughly. Lieu's cigarettes were a bit stronger than his, and he had reeked of alcohol. Hwan wouldn't like that, if he did decide to go to his room. Reza even washed his hair, partly just to kill some time. Once that was done, he settled into the bath, letting his body heat the water up. 

The heat soothed the tension in his back and shoulders, and he groaned from it, the sound echoing through the wood and tile room. He wanted to go to Hwan's room. He knew that already. But just how bad did he want it? What was he being offered really? 

He wasn't in love with Hwan, and if he was smart, he wouldn't let himself get that way. He was completely infatuated with him, he could acknowledge that, could admit that everything about him made Reza want him. It was getting to the point of distraction. Maybe Lieu had been right, and he just needed to fuck him and get it out of his system. 

On the other hand, he knew himself very well. Hwan was the kind of man he could easily get in too deep with. An affair that could start as just being physical could quickly turn into an attachment. As it stood, he could still walk away from this place, from Hwan, and put it out of his head. That was probably the smart thing to do. 

It had been over five years since anyone had touched him like Hwan did. There had been one whore, after the incident, just the one, and that had been enough. Even a professional hadn't been able to hide their disgust with his scarring. 

Hwan never pretended he wasn't though. He was open in his dislikes, to the point of annoying. But now it seemed like he was at least used to Reza's face. He had kissed him, after all, and Hwan didn't kiss. Fuck, he wanted to kiss him again. 

What was he doing, really? Nothing wrong. Everyone in the Triad indulged in the tea houses. And Hwan was _his_. Reza had staked his claim when he needed Hwan, and it had been convenient for more than one reason. It wasn't a good idea for him to get jealous over who was sleeping with a whore. It was just good business to remove the issue altogether. 

Maybe if he'd asked for Hwan that first night, the first time he'd seen him, it wouldn't have gotten this bad. 

It had been the first time he'd ever stood in the tea house, as Zolt and Chen went over the papers of everyone there. He'd seen Taruk first, had assumed he was a servant because of his youth, only for the boy to correct him with that odd smile of his, that way he had of looking at people like his only wish was to please them. It had disturbed Reza, honestly.

Hwan had been the last, the veteran of the house, and when he'd walked down the stairs, Jin openly eyeing him, he'd made Reza's heart stop. It was no one thing, it was the whole package. If he had not been what he was, Reza would have had him that night. But he was what he was, and Hwan had only given him a cool look before turning to Zolt. 

But he was offering himself to Reza now. Why not take what was being freely given? He had made a good point, out there. Reza would never force him. He was capable of a lot of things, a lot of horrible things, but he couldn't do _that_ to another person. A man had to have rules he lived by, or he was nothing but an animal. 

Reza was self aware enough to know that the rules he lived by were arbitrary, and did little good except at relieving his conscience. He didn't kill kids. He didn't kill pregnant women. He didn't kill in front of kids. He didn't kill pets. 

And he didn't do _that_. 

He was going to go to him, wasn't he? Why was he even pretending that he was ever going to actually turn it down? 

He got out, dried himself, and dressed again. His hair was wet and rough looking, not really the kind that tangled, but Hwan had seen it worse. 

He went upstairs to Hwan's room, but found himself lingering in front of the door. It was quiet within, but he could see that there was a light on. They were at the point in their knowing each other that normally he just knocked as a warning and entered. But that seemed presumptuous now.

Reza knocked. And waited. 

When Hwan slid it open, he was looking up at Reza in puzzlement. “I haven't changed my mind, you know.” He said, stepping back to give Reza admittance. The scarred man came in, but didn't sit. It had been so much easier to think about this when Hwan was almost in his lap. Now, faced with the actual act, his traitorous mind reminded him that he wasn't the only one who could suffer in this development. Hwan was in a precarious position already. Things could have continued as they were just fine, but adding sex in increased the potential of everything going wrong for the man. 

Hwan lifted a lock of his damp hair, and frowned. “Sit down. Let me fix this.” 

That at least was familiar, and he felt a bit more steady as he sat down on the bed. 

He felt him kneel behind him on the bed, felt a hand slide up his back. “Take your shirt off.” He normally did, when they were sitting like this. He had spent the past five years hating having his scars exposed, only for Hwan to merrily skip past that barrier like it wasn't even there. So he did as Hwan told him, shrugging it off and placing it by the bed. “Relax, Reza.” Hwan ordered, as his hands took hold of Reza's hair. 

The routine soothed the last of the tension out of his spine, Hwan humming under his breath as he negotiated the tangles from Reza's hair, until it hung straight and smooth. He tied it off, then gathered it up into some kind of twist at the base of his neck, out of his way like he liked it. 

Zolt had cut his when they arrived in Republic City, but Reza hadn't been able to do it. He still felt like an idiot for it, for believing in such a stupid tradition somewhere deep inside, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn't convince himself to do it. It was only when Hwan took care of him that he felt like he was paying it any real respect though. 

“You should cut it, if you're not going to take care of it, you know.” Hwan said, like he had a dozen times before. 

“That's why I have you. To take care of me.” Reza replied, getting a laugh out of him. He wasn't being funny though, and when he turned to look at Hwan over his shoulder, the other man saw that. His smirk faded, and his expression turned serious, his dark green eyes even darker in the dim light. “So take care of me.” 

Hwan slid his hand down Reza's bad shoulder, his other hand slipping under Reza's arm to wrap around his waist. He kissed the skin below his ear first, his soft hair brushing against Reza's back as he did so. Then another kiss to the good side of his face, and for the third, Reza turned to meet him. 

Stripping Hwan out of his robe was an experience he wanted to burn into his memory. Every glimpse he had had so far was nothing compared to this, and the feel of him, of his skin under Reza's, was enough to make him ache. He really was beautiful, no matter what he said to the contrary. He was unreal, a gossamer spirit, even when Reza was sliding into him, and could feel the warmth and strength of his thighs under his hands. 

Focusing on the task at hand, he watched Hwan, as the man undid the ribbon in his own hair, and it fell loose around them. The light of the lantern on the table was shining through, lending to Reza's view of him as being otherworldly. Above him, Hwan sighed, and gripped the headboard behind Reza to give himself more leverage. 

He pulled him down for a kiss as he pushed up hard into him, so he could feel the way he gasped. Spirits, Reza had wanted this, had wanted every second of this, as he ran his good hand down Hwan's back in a kind of worship of him. He was almost afraid of him, and the fondness in his eyes as he looked down at Reza. When he coaxed another kiss out of him, he swore he felt the brush of his eyelashes against his face. 

“Reza,” His name escaped Hwan's lips, and it was almost enough to finish him. It threw off his rhythm at the very least, and Hwan made a noise of complaint, pushing at him. “No,” he argued, “Go back to, yes, go back to _that_ ,” Reza had corrected himself, and Hwan obviously approved. 

Hwan let go of Reza and wrapped his hand around himself, moving in time with Reza's thrusts, and the sight was too much for him. He came with a shudder, but didn't pull out just yet. He waited for Hwan to finish, not wanting to disturb the image even the slightest. Now this, this he wanted to burn into his memory. 

He pulled out now, and removed the sheepskin, choosing to incinerate it out of laziness. His fire burned hot enough it was ash in an instant, and he flicked it away, bored. 

“You did not just put ash on my floor.” Hwan said, from where he'd disappeared to. Reza had never seen anyone move as silently as Hwan could, not even Lieu. He was already across the room, without Reza so much as noticing. “Really?” 

“Bill me.” Reza commanded tiredly, moving down on the bed so he could lie flat on his back. He listened to Hwan clean up with the wash basin he had behind the wooden screen in the corner with his eye closed, and didn't know he had returned until the bed dipped again. “I want to smoke.” 

“If you so much as open that case, I really will stab you with a hair pin.” Hwan said sweetly, and Reza reached out for him blindly. He had wrapped himself up in a robe again, so Reza touched expensive cotton, not skin. He could still feel his hair though, so that was alright. “I mean it Reza, not even once, not in my room. If you get that smell in my clothes, I won't sleep with you for a week.” Still, he let Reza pull him down, and to his surprise, he actually cuddled up to his good side. It was unexpected, but pleasing. “So, what's wrong with Lieu?”

“You're not going to believe this.” Reza warned, wanting to laugh. “That healer who comes to see you? Same one Lieu has been chasing.” Without opening his eye, he felt Hwan stiffen, though he didn't pull away.

“What?” He asked, incredulous. “Oh, fuck, he said it was one of those stupid fighters on the docks, the non-benders. I never thought for a second...oh, for the love of Min Ling, I'm such an _idiot_.” Hwan buried his face in Reza's shoulder, making a frustrated noise.

“Did you just offer a prayer to Min Ling?” That was what Reza had gotten stuck on. Min Ling was a fox spirit who was said to lure in victims with riddles. Guess the right answer, and you were blessed with sharp wit. Guess the wrong answer, and Min Ling devoured your heart and liver. 

Hwan grumbled something he couldn't hear, and when he asked for him to speak up, he ground out, “I was born on Min Ling's feast day.” 

Reza couldn't help but laugh now, and it earned him what was probably a pout. He had yet to open his eye, so he wasn't sure. “That's a little too fitting.” Hwan settled down into the space again, though Reza was sure he was sulking, but he was there, so he wasn't arguing. “I can't believe that's Lieu's type. In any case, he apparently broke Lieu's little black heart last night. I couldn't really understand him.” Hwan didn't need to know the rest of the story, especially after they'd just had sex. He got the feeling Hwan wouldn't like that one very much. 

“Good for Amon.” Hwan replied darkly, and now Reza opened his eye. He had a very solemn expression on his face, one that Reza had never seen before, and didn't much like. “He deserves better.” 

He didn't like that either. “Yeah, well, in case you didn't notice, you just fucked Triad trash too. Or am I good enough for a whore?” 

Hwan gave him a strange look, then shook his head. “That's not a fair comparison.” He said. “And I knew what I was doing. Amon didn't.” 

“Why isn't it fair? I told you, Lieu and me aren't that different.” Not that different at all, when it came down to it. If anything, Reza thought he might be crueler, more violent. 

The other man kept looking at him with those dark green eyes of his, unfathomable in the dim lighting. “Lieu lied. You never once lied to me about who you are. That makes it completely different.” He sat up, and leaned over Reza. “I knew what I was doing when I invited you into my room, into my bed, into me. I know exactly what you are, and no, I don't like all of it, but I like enough to look past those parts. You respected me, and you protected me while getting nothing in return, nor expecting anything. I liked that enough to stop hating you.” His eyes flashed, as he hissed, “I would never have stopped hating that bastard the way I stopped with you.” 

He wasn't hiding anything right in this moment, and for just a brief second, Reza swore he saw all the things Hwan kept locked away from even himself. It made him draw him close in a kiss, a soft one that made Hwan tremble against him for some reason. 

“Don't ever hate me again.” He begged, because in that moment, he stopped lying too, and he knew without a doubt that if Hwan ever talked about him the way he talked about Lieu, it would break his heart.


	15. To distract our hearts from ever missing them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amon has been found out by more than just his friends, as they, with the best intentions, involve someone they know he has to listen to. He prays for understanding, but finds none, as we so rarely do when our hearts have been shattered the way his has. 
> 
> So he find something else to understand, and tries to convince his friend to understand to. (There was always going to be a revolution, but maybe this time he'll do it right)
> 
> He is found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking about moving north. This is distracting me. I kind of want to live in Connecticut though. 
> 
> Anyway, as a few notes, willow bark tea is actually a predecessor to aspirin. (Why yes, I was a botany major) However, modern-day aspirin uses a synthetic version of the natural property in the willow bark. Why? Because it will tear your stomach up if you use too much, like say, a person with chronic headaches, or a woman with a particularly painful cycle would be tempted to. 
> 
> The symptoms described by Amon are all true. However, people do not experience all of them, for the most part. Like most health issues, you sometimes don't have all the symptoms. 
> 
> I assume Water Tribe clothing is treated somehow to be waterproof, so that they don't freeze to death up there. 
> 
> I made up the story Penna tells, but there are several stories associated with the belief. I squished a few together, just because I wanted to make it fit in. I personally always liked the story, but yes, I have my doubts about the ideas of soul mates.

Amon's days were a blur of work and sleep, as he forced himself to the point of exhaustion every day. His back ached something fierce, to the point he was downing enough willow bark tea to tear a hole in his stomach. Nothing he did took away the pain at his temple anymore, and nothing would until he let himself rest like he should. 

He was no stranger to working through pain though, so he hid it as well as he could and carried on. He refused to take a break, refused to even spend time in prayer. Amon knew without a doubt that if he let himself pause for one instant, if he let his head fill with something other than patients and case studies and new knowledge, he would fall back on the one thing he never wanted to think about again. And once he did that, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop.

So there was no rest, and no dwelling. He worked and worked, and the pain in his head increased by the week. The stress of it all was going to rip him up, but he kept putting it off, hoping for just one more peaceful day, one more week without thinking of him, because if he could, then the day would come when it didn't hurt anymore. At least, that was his hope. 

Of course, his friends had to interfere with that plan. When nothing they could do would penetrate, one of them, and he suspected it was nosy Penna, went above his head, and got Kanna involved. 

He was in the laundry room when she found him, her cool eyes letting him know he wasn't getting out of this. Without betraying himself to the others in the room, he gave up his place at the line to the healer trailing behind her, and took their place, trailing her like a turtle duck. 

She took him to her office, a small room hidden away in the clinic, away from the noise and bustle of the place. On her bookcases, there were books and texts rare enough that the library would give a first-born for just a peek, and she had other strange things besides. A preserved heart in a jar, though it was the heart of a goat gorilla, not a human like everyone said, and several skulls. Those were human, in various stages of age, all under glass to keep the discoloration brought by age away. 

“The lungs are an interesting addition.” He observed, eyeing them. They had been suspended in some kind of thick, glassy substance, probably something of her own invention. They sat in a place of honor, on the pedestal beside her desk. “Are they human?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” She replied. “The right is from a smoker. The left one from a non smoker.” It was an interesting juxtaposition, and when he stepped closer to analyze them, he was fascinated by the differences between the obviously infected one, and the healthy one. “I'm trying to prove to the Council that the damn things are poison, but no one listens. Probably not helping that they're all smokers too. Only one who gives me any say is Councilman Sokka, but then, he was always a man of science.” 

Amon had heard that, but had never met the man. He knew Kanna respected him greatly, even if she seemed to hold an certain level of disdain for any authority figures beside herself. 

She sat down at her desk, and raised her eyebrows. “Willow bark tea is meant to be consumed in small doses. I know you are well aware of the dangers of overuse of the stuff. Your stomach will need surgery, not just healing. And trust me boy, if I have to open you up because of your own stupidity, it'll be without painkillers.” 

There was a distasteful threat. She'd follow through on it, he was sure. Kanna may have been a kind woman, but she believed in having a toughness to her love. “I've had a headache I can't seem to rid myself of.” He said, and she pursed her lips. 

“Tell me Amon, what are the most common signs of sleep deprivation?” She asked, like they were back in the teaching room, her lecturing them as they scribbled notes. 

“Feelings of tiredness, mood disruption, difficulty concentrating, impaired performance, inability to form short-term memories, difficulty recalling long-term memories, inability to perform basic functions, frequent disorientation, visual and auditory hallucinations. The stress from these effects often causes other symptoms such as stomach pain, joint pain, and,” Amon rattled it all off like it was written right in front of him, but he paused over the last, seeing where she was going. “Headaches.” He finished, looking back at the lungs. “You think I'm not sleeping.”

“No.” She answered. “I know for a fact you're not sleeping, because your little friends tattled on you. All three of them, and all of them were delightfully sneaky about it. Especially Pasook. My, that boy never looks more suspicious than when he's trying not to look suspicious.” Well, it seemed Penna had been undeserving of his wrath. They were all guilty of interfering in his business. “You've been taking doubles, and you've been skipping meals. Don't lie, I know that for a fact too. Because your stomach is hurting too, right? Not just your head?” 

“I'm fine.”

“Oh?” She questioned. “Really? And will you still be fine when you can't concentrate on your job? Will you still be fine when you kill a patient because you can't focus on the correct chi line?” She narrowed her eyes. “Or when you accidentally bloodbend them?”

It was as though he'd been slapped in the face, the cold dread growing in his stomach overriding the pain she had accurately assessed. He said nothing, because he had nothing to say, no supplication or apologies to offer. Kanna was not Penna, or Pasook. Kanna was kind, but she did not love him. And he did not want to see the hatred in her face, or hear the way she would disregard his few arguments. 

So they stood silent, as he waited for her to condemn him. 

“You know, I did wonder about you.” She said, after the silence had grown so thick it could be sliced. “I've never had a student like you. Sometimes, I don't think you even grasp just how exceptional a bender you are. Because you are exceptional, my boy. And not only that, you're intelligent. You understand concepts I didn't get until I was at least ten years older than you. You weren't just top of your class, boy, you had a perfect score.” She shook her head. Outside her window, he could see the Bay over the tops of the buildings in between. Avatar Aang's statue loomed over, staff held out like a conqueror. “No one has ever done that before.”

He wondered about Avatar Aang sometimes. What must it be like, being the last of your kind? How heavy was that burden on his shoulders? Knowing that you had failed the world, allowed thousands of innocent people to die, millions, if he counted all that had died in the Hundred Years War. All because of your own fear, your own inability to carry a mantle you were born with, one you could never escape, no matter how far you ran.

“I've never asked,” Kanna continued. “I only ask when I need to know. When it involves this clinic, and the safety of the people here.” 

Amon studied Aang's young face. What was it like, to have the pressure of the whole world put on your back at twelve? 

“I'm asking now, Amon. Who are you, really?” 

He didn't look at her, but dragged his eyes from Aang to the shining water of Yue Bay. He wasn't sure what to feel towards his spirits. He felt betrayed, and angry, and sick, but at the same time, he was desperate to believe they had not lied to him. He needed to believe in them, more than anything. 

“I'm dead.” He answered. “I died in a storm.” Because he had. If he told himself the truth, he knew what everyone thought of him back there. He knew that his belongings had been put in a boat, pushed away from the shore in flames, burning away everything that had made him up to ash. His mother had mourned him, his father had cast him off, and he had left his little brother to blame himself for it all. “And I was reborn under Yue's eyes, as Amon.” 

“The spirit of secrets.” She smiled. “I can't believe you'd choose such an obvious tell. No parent would name their child after the secret-keeper.” Amon was a lesser spirit, a shadow who lingered in every dark corner. He heard all your oaths and secrets, and kept them filed away in his head, waiting for a need to twist them to his advantage, or to force you to keep the promises you'd never really meant. “I suppose you had a reason though.” 

“I did.” He had chosen Amon because the name would remind him every day to never let himself become Yakone. To never let his darkness dwell in his own heart. To be worthy of the blessing of Tui and La.

“And who was it who died?” 

“A stupid boy.” He said, his breath fogging the glass of Kanna's window. “A foolish boy who didn't want to live anymore.” 

“And what does you intend to use that boy's unusual gift for, Amon?” 

He stepped back from the glass, from Aang's judgmental eyes and La's sparkling embrace. “The same thing I used it for in that woman's bedroom.” Both women, the one she obviously knew about, and the one she didn't. “To save people. To treat the gift like a scalpel; in the hands of the good, a tool for saving people. In the hands of the evil, a weapon.” He looked at her at last. “I will never be the latter.”

“Don't say never, my dear boy.” Kanna cautioned, with the smugness of one who had lived a great many years. “Life takes us interesting places sometimes.” She leaned back in her chair now, hands intertwined over her apron. “You bloodbended during the day, during a waning moon. I've only ever heard of one man being able to do that.” 

“I'm obviously not him.” He replied, defensive at the comparison. Kanna was triumphant at the quick snap though, and he saw with one look that Kanna knew. Of course she did. Kanna had probably known right away what had happened within the woman and baby, she was too good a healer not to. She had to have felt the aftereffects that a lesser healer would have missed easily. He should have known he couldn't keep this a secret from her. 

Why was he so stupid? How had he made so many poor decisions lately? Letting in a man he didn't know, crawling into his bed, believing himself in love with him when he didn't know the first thing about him? Bloodbending where anyone could catch him, where his friends would see? Allowing people to learn of his real identity, of his hateful parentage? 

He had been nothing but foolish, and he had no one to blame but himself. He had been so desperate for any kind of human connection, he had reached out to a man who wasn't worthy of it, when he had people in the clinic who deserved so much more of his time. He had let that man kiss him, touch him, the same man who had been responsible for the cruel treatment of people like Hwan and Taruk, who had probably hurt plenty of people on his own. He was a murderer, if Yasu was to be believed, and Amon trusted him so much more than that liar now. 

“Amon?” Kanna was rising, and he realized why when he had to struggle to take in a breath, when he couldn't get enough air to his lungs. “Oh, Amon, my boy, lay down, come on, do as I say,” 

He was already on his knees as he gasped for breath, and Kanna had no trouble turning him over on to his back. “Breathe, Amon, concentrate on your breath.” He had never experienced anything like this, though he'd sometimes felt on the verge. But now he was most certainly in the midst of what Kanna called an 'attack', as the buildup of stress and lack of sleep finally took its toll on him. 

For the second time in far too soon, he fainted, as his stomach rolled and his face burned. It was lucky he had nothing in his stomach, he thought, as he blacked out.

He was only out for a moment this time, but when he opened his eyes, his head was pounding a painful rhythm with every beat of his heart, and his stomach hurt even worse. 

“There you are,” Kanna said, and he realized she had slapped him to bring him back around, and none too gently either. His cheek stung, as he roused himself, and attempted to sit up. Kanna bent some water from her water feature, a plain fountain, into a teacup, and he drank deeply, thirsty. “You see what happens when you don't listen to me? You faint.” 

“I fainted from a lack of food and sleep, combined with stress.” He corrected, his head killing him enough that he dared to be grouchy with her. “Kanna, I,”

“You're off-duty for the next two days.” She ordered sternly. “I mean it. I think that's enough revelations between us for today, but I know for a fact this isn't the only thing bothering you.” She frowned at him. “Working yourself to death won't erase the pain, Amon. You need to work through it in a healthy way, and by that, I mean talk to someone. You're one of this clinic's best healers, and I won't lose you to the drama of a broken heart, understood?” 

She was going to let him stay. She was going to let him stay in this clinic and keep being a healer, with his friends, and his patients and the books in the library, and the canteen that always had miso soup. 

He had never been so grateful to another human being in all his life, and she perhaps knew that, most likely did. She was Kanna, after all. She helped him up to his feet with only a little effort, the wiry muscle in her arms defying her age. “Go to the canteen, eat something, and go to bed for a bit.” She said, patting him on the back. “I will check on you, don't you doubt me.” 

He would never dare doubt Kanna. 

He nodded in acquiescence, and left her office. He was unsurprised to find Penna waiting for him, smiling in a nervous way. “Pasook and Yasu told on me as well.” He told her, to ease her guilt, and her shoulders sagged in relief. 

“Thank Tui. I felt like a spider rat, but you wouldn't listen to us. It was all I could think of.” 

“I'm sure.” He agreed. “I've been told I have to go eat, then go to bed. I'm off-duty for the next few days.” Penna slipped her arm through his, but where once he could have comfortably leaned on her, he found he was too tall now. It was like Hwan had said, he thought, as they walked to the canteen. He was going to be above average height by the time he finished growing, probably as tall as Yakone had been. Hopefully, that meant he wouldn't be so skinny for much longer either. He had grown tired of it, honestly. 

Penna waited until they were sitting in the canteen, before she opened the conversation up. “Kanna asked me, Amon, but I didn't say anything. I think she already knew, after she looked Ning over.” Amon shook his head, trying to tell her not to worry as he ate his miso. His poor stomach was grateful for the sudden influx of food, but he took it slowly, remembering how badly it had been rolling with nausea not too long ago. “I did tell her about the guy though.”

He out the bowl and chopsticks down, and reached for his tea. Penna had mixed something in it, he was sure. He thought he could taste the harsh bite of an iron supplement in it, but he wasn't sure. 

“I didn't have a choice about that. I'm sorry, but I don't know him. I don't know what he'll do, after that whole show. He could come back and set the clinic on fire.” She took a sip of her own tea. “I could do without ever being on fire again.” 

“If it helps,” Amon replied, as he picked his chopsticks back up. “I don't know him either. Not really. I just thought I did.” He hands were steady, but he still curled the free one into a fist in his lap, scrunching the fabric of his healer's robes in it. “I was an idiot.” 

She pulled at her braids for a second, and then made a determined face. “Do you want to know how my legs got messed up?”

“Penna,” Amon didn't want to ever press her for a story that was hers to give, and not his to take. She never had.

“Because I was stupid. I was so stupid. I thought I was immortal, because every kid thinks they are. I was doing those bending matches, the ones they do down on Comet Street.” She was speaking like every word was a struggle, as his eyes widened. The bending matches on Comet were infamous, and not just for their excitement. Too many people came out of them injured beyond repair, or worse. He himself had done his first amputation observation on a woman whose arm had been frostbitten by ice from one of those matches. “And I tried to ice this bitch from the next neighborhood over. She came back with fire to melt it, only it hit me too.”

He was trying to imagine Penna in a fight like that, and found the image came easier than he had thought. She had a certain fierceness to her cheerful personality that he could see enjoying the competition and adrenaline rush it brought. 

“I'm permanently fucked up. I'm nineteen, and my legs are never going to get better. They're only going to get more painful the older I get.” That was an unfortunate fact. The scarring she had sustained had been deep, and it would continue to tighten in winter without fail. Sunlight would always be dangerous on them. Excessive heat would make them itch. “So you want to talk about being an idiot, I think I've got you beat, alright? We all do stupid shit, Amon. It's a whole big part of growing up. So if you're punishing yourself for something so normal, believe me when I say, I will personally beat some sense into you.” 

“He's in the Triad. And I never even saw it. How can I be such a poor judge of character?” He asked, unsure of whether or not to believe her. 

“Because you loved him.” She said, into her tea. “Sometimes we're blind around the people we love. We don't see what's as plain as day, because we want to believe they're worth our love, even when they're not.” She sighed, and set her now empty cup down. “And we keep doing it, because every now and then our faith in people is rewarded. People change, and they grow up, and sometimes they stop being assholes.” 

He kind of wanted another bowl of miso, but it was very warm by the hibachi, and he was loathe to move away from it. Now that he was actually sitting still, his exhaustion had caught up with him, but so had his hunger. 

Thankfully, Penna stood and refilled it, and she brought back a few dumplings and rice balls too, the kind with bean paste in them. She bended some tea for him too, and he nodded in thanks. 

He made it through another bowl before he tried to explain to her exactly how he felt. “I'm so angry with him. I hate him.” That felt true, but he wasn't sure. “He made me happy, and I haven't...”

“Yeah, we're all well acquainted with your moodiness.” She replied, raising an eyebrow. “You seemed really happy with him. You've always seemed so lonely, you know, no matter how close we tried to get to you. Sometimes I felt like you never even saw us, even when we were sitting right there.” She generously spooned her own sugar ration into his cup, along with some milk. “I felt so bad for you. I always figured something really awful had happened to you, you know? You were never really mean, just sad. Pasook thought so too. I think you and him have a lot in common though. With parents who suck, I mean.” 

“Pasook told you?” 

She nodded. “In bits and pieces. But he didn't really have to. I was here when his mother brought him.” Penna frowned in memory. “His lip was bleeding, and his mother was crying. And when Kanna had me help heal him, I could see all the old injuries his mom must have healed over time. He wasn't too different from you, those first few weeks. Really withdrawn, scared of making people angry. But then he kind of came out of his shell, and now he's the obnoxious loudmouth he was always meant to be.” She shrugged. “I always kind of figured, from the way you acted, that maybe you had that in common.” 

Amon wondered how Pasook would feel about Penna telling him this, but at this point, he was beginning to think they really had few secrets left between them. “Mine was never really like that. He was cruel, but he rarely struck us. What he did was worse, I think. He made us hate our bending, made us scared of ourselves. He didn't see us as children. Just tools.” 

“Yeah.” Penna said. “I can see how that might be worse, in some ways.” 

“Lieu made me forget.” He said, and his throat tightened. “When I was with him, I felt safe, protected from all of it. From all of his hatred and anger, from what he placed on me. I felt like none of it mattered, like being with him was where I was meant to be. Like he was for me, and I was for him.”

“Your red string.” Penna said, and he looked at her, surprised. It sounded familiar, and it took him a minute to place where he had heard the phrase before. Hwan, he remembered, and his wistful smile. “Do you know the story?” Amon shook his head. “My mom used to read it to me when I was a kid. The one I was told goes that, a long time ago, before the Spirit world and our world were divided, there was a shepherd name Li. He fell in love with a heavenly maiden named Yuriko, and she with him. But Yuriko's father, the King of the Sky, was enraged at the shepherd's daring, and he took the poor boy, and flung him far away from Yuriko's gaze. However, Yuriko managed to toss her love a red string from her hair, and her love wrapped it around his finger, so that one day, they could find their way back to each other.” 

Amon had never heard any story like that, and he finished off two dumplings as Penna told it. “So how does that apply?”

“Hm? Oh, well, now the legend says that everyone has a red string around their finger, and it will lead you to your soul mate, if you follow it.” She shrugged, smiling sadly. “Maybe in another life, he was yours.” 

“In another life, we would still have the same souls.” He argued, shaking his head. “Don't tell me I'm doomed to love someone, only for it to get destroyed in every life.”

His friend laughed. “Who knows, maybe you screwed it up in the other life. You never know.” She stood, stretching her legs out carefully before. “And maybe it works out eventually. Life is funny like that.”

“He's Triad. I don't think that's the kind of thing that works itself out.” Amon reminded her, and she considered that, as she directed him up.

“True. Very true.” She shrugged. “Personally, I think it's kind of dumb. I mean, it's really nice, to think there's this one person out there who will complete you, but it's just setting you up for impossible expectations. And what if your other half dies, huh? You can't ever be happy with someone else?”

Amon looked at her. “You're very unromantic, for a girl.” 

“Yeah, well, you and your gender roles can bite me.” That sounded more like Penna than the fairytale. 

They took their dishes to the sink, and cleaned them off, before placing them in the drying rack. Then Penna firmly took him by the arm and made sure he went upstairs to his dorm. She invited herself in, like she always did, and lit the small hibachi in the corner. He and his roommate rarely did, preferring to save the coal for the truly bad nights, but even he knew he needed it now. His bones ached from overwork, and he was freezing as he stripped out of his healer's robes and into his sleep clothes, Penna covering her eyes indulgently.

Most healers had no problem with being stripped in front of one another. It was the nature of their work, after all, the human body. But Amon just couldn't let go of his strange modesty, and his friends at least respected it. His roommate had learned to deal, but thankfully, Amon so rarely saw him it didn't matter. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Penna offered. “I could read a book, or even nap a bit. I don't mind just lying down with you.” 

He was going to say no, and keep some pride, but he knew he'd sleep better if he had someone beside him. He had never really adjusted to sleeping alone, after years of sharing a bed with Tarrlok. He had been scared of the dark for a good part of his childhood, and Amon had never been able to say no to his little brother crawling into bed with him for safety from the monsters he imagined. When they got older, it had been seeking safety from the one in the room next door, but Tarrlok had still needed him. 

Sleeping beside Lieu had been the best he'd slept in two years, and he knew he had only slept so deeply on that awful night because Pasook was beside him. 

“Please,” he said, as he got under the covers. Penna joined him, laying out straight so that he was between her and the wall. “Thank you.” 

“It's fine. I used to have to share a bed with four sisters. Coming to the clinic was the first time I had a bed to myself.” 

“You have four sisters?” He asked, amazed. That was a lot, to him. Most Water Tribe families never had more than three children, much less five.

“Yep. And two brothers. I was in the middle of all of it somewhere.” She punched his shoulder lightly. “Go to sleep Amon. It's alright. I'm here.” 

He nodded, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

\- 

He had not prayed since that day, had not been able to bring himself into the quiet room. He waited until he was alone, another man already kneeling in silent worship when he arrived. Once he had left, and the door was shut, Amon spoke.

“Why?” He asked, unable to look at any of them as he tightened his fists in his robes. “Why did you do that to me? Why did you bring me to him, just to betray me like that? I thought you wanted me to be with him. I thought you wanted me to love him.” 

There was only the water falling over the rocks to answer. 

“You said you had forgiven me. So why did you lead me to someone who would do that to me?” _Who would break my heart so hard I'm afraid I can't ever put it back together._ “Were you giving me a taste of what I did to Tarrlok? By betraying him? Haven't I been punished enough in my life just by existing?” Just by being Yakone's son, hadn't he already been hurt enough?

“What do you want from me? Why do you keep showing me all these people who have been hurt? Why do you keep hurting me?” He touched his head to the floor as his shoulders shook from his sobs. “What do you want me to do? I don't understand. I don't understand anything. I'm so lost.” He admitted. 

He studied the rug under him through blurred vision, and sat back up. “No, I'm not, am I? You led me here, to a home, to a family I can trust and depend on. You've given me people to care about, who care about me.” He frowned, and shifted, the stone freezing under his knees. “You surround me with people who have overcome their pasts, why? To show me that I can too? That you forgive all?” 

He felt like he couldn't think clearly, as he let himself cry openly here, where no one could see. “I feel like I can't breathe every time I think about him.” He confessed to them. “It hurts. It hurts so much more than I thought it could. I did love him.” He shouldn't lie to them, he reminded himself, not to the spirits who could see into his heart as easily as he could read the words on a page. “Why can't I stop? I miss him. I want him back. I want to be ignorant again, so I can be happy with him again.” 

That was a terrible thing to say, to feel, and he knew it. “He hurts people. Not just in the ring. Yasu says he killed his friends, and it was...it was a horrible way. Yasu says people are terrified of him. That he's never underestimated anymore, because people who underestimate him die.” 

But he had held Amon in his apartment like he loved him, as they moved around in their made-up dance. He had made Amon feel like they were the only two people in the whole world. Amon had felt safe letting him in, had opened his body up to him in a way he'd never thought himself capable of, and Lieu had never taken advantage of it. He'd never hurt Amon, though he well could have. 

He'd been kind, and understanding, and had seemed only to want to make him happy. No one had ever paid him that kind of attention before, and he'd enjoyed every second of it, even when he was uncomfortable, or embarrassed. 

He had been everything Amon wanted for himself. Someone who loved him for who he was, not what he was. Lieu had seemed to like his often stubborn nature, his controlling tendencies, even his too-quick temper and often acerbic tongue. He hadn't needed to be someone else with Lieu.

“Why would you show me that kind of love, only for it to be untrue?” Had it been untrue? Maybe. He loved Lieu, but who was he, really? Amon had only ever seen the side of him he wanted Amon to see. He had never been privy to what everyone else apparently knew about him. Would he still love him then? If he knew the whole truth?

“Pain can be a great teacher, if the lesson is applied right.” He said, remembering something Kanna had said once. “It teaches us that we are human, and humans are fragile. That we should always respect that fragility, and remember that it mirrors the fragility of the world at large.” He smoothed out his robes, as he looked up at the moon. “Did you want to remind me that I should never be too trusting? Or maybe you wanted to tell me not to depend on others for strength.”

That felt right, that maybe his spirits were trying to show him that though it was alright to lean on his friends, he ultimately had to depend on himself, and his own strength of heart and mind. That he had to make decisions for himself, sometimes.

“I saved that woman's life, and the life of the child, with your gift.” He said, the sense memory of Ning and her unnamed baby's hearts beating under his hands surfacing. He could almost feel the faltering rhythm again, and his own desperate decision. “I made the right choice, and I know it. I accepted my fate as your tool, and I used it correctly. She and her baby are going to be okay. Penna saw them yesterday, and said they're both doing much better now.” 

But why show him something like that in such a cruel way? Why wound him so deeply?

“I feel like I was sleepwalking for two years, and I've only just woken up. He woke me up, that night in the ring. The way he looked at me, it,” _sparked something inside that had been cold and dark for so long_ “It made me feel again. Was that his purpose then? So that I could get back on the path you want me on?” 

Again, that seemed far too cruel for his spirits. “I don't _understand_ , please.” He bowed again, begging for an answer, his eyes squeezed shut, but still, there was nothing.

-

Eventually, he had to leave the safety of the clinic, and he did so with only a little trepidation. He was both relieved and a little disappointed that Lieu had made no appearance at the clinic, at least not anywhere he had seen. His disappointment felt like a betrayal to himself, more than anything, but he could at least accept why he wanted to see Lieu still, despite everything. He still loved him, despite his hard words to the man, and it would probably take awhile for that love to fade. 

It would one day, he knew, or hoped. And then he could move on with his life, and fall in love with someone who didn't lie to him with every word they spoke. 

He finally had enough put aside for a new parka, so he was headed down to the west side of the Market District. It was Triple Threat territory, according to Hwan, but Amon didn't think Lieu was the type to put Amon in danger just because Amon had ended their relationship. If he still loved Lieu, he was also level-headed enough to know that Lieu had been speaking the truth that night. He loved Amon, or at least thought he did. 

It had felt like love. 

Either way, he was undisturbed as he made his way down the street, towards a shop that stocked Water Tribe clothing. Pasook had told him about it, but he had decided to go alone, so that Pasook could spend his day off with Yasu without extra company. Penna had come down with the flu, so she was stuck in her dorm, breathing noisily through her fever. 

He liked being alone, in any case. It gave him time to think without interruption, and he liked being able to make decisions without Penna and Pasook arguing from either side of him. He sometimes thought one argued with the other for the sake of habit. 

It was still a pleasant surprise to find Hwan in the shop, his hair back in two elaborate braids. “If it isn't my favorite healer.” He greeted, when Amon touched him on the shoulder to get his attention. “What are you doing here?” 

“Getting a new parka.” He answered, and Hwan gave the one he had over his arm a disapproving frown. “I've had this one for five years now.” 

“And it shows.” He picked at it with an upturn of his nose. “Well, lucky you, I'm here to help you find a better one.” 

Amon followed him without argument, not bothered by Hwan taking over the chore. His pushiness never felt offensive, probably a result of his training to deal with people. 

“So,” Hwan said, once they were alone among the familiar blues and whites. “Your fighter was Lieu.” The casual mention startled him, and he turned to him, shocked, but Hwan just raised an eyebrow. “I know him, unfortunately. He's not exactly my favorite person.” 

He licked his lips nervously, his fingers digging into the fabric of the old parka. “I don't know that I want to talk about this. And how do you even know?”

“That involves talking about it.” Hwan teased, but didn't withhold. “Lieu showed up at the tea house in the early hours after you so rightfully gave him the boot, falling down drunk and whining about it. He also got ash on the floor of the Peony Room, and we had to replace the mat in there. He ruined it. Reza told me about it once Lieu passed out and he could come to bed.” 

There was something about the way he said it that made Amon worry. “So, you and him are sleeping with each other now?” 

“Mind your own.” Hwan chirped, pulling out a parka. “You can grown into this one. You've got another inch or so, I suppose, and then you'll fill out, so the width will be good.” Amon pulled it over his head, and frowned at the way it hung on him. But he supposed Hwan was right. It would need to still fit in a year or so. “Never mind, I don't like that pattern. Off.” 

Amon did as he was told, and Hwan hung it back where he had gotten it. “What are you even doing in here? You don't wear Water Tribe clothes.” 

“No, I do not. Blue isn't a good color for me. But Taruk needs a few new clothes, and he's still scared to leave the house. I get the feeling that creepy reign of terror he lived in was rather strictly enforced, poor thing.” Amon was inclined to agree. Taruk was so compliant, it was unnatural. “And I was getting a few other things. You people make very warm clothes.” 

“And you wouldn't be caught dead in any of them.” Amon said, not willing to drop the subject. “You congratulate me for leaving him, while you do the same thing.” 

Hwan shook his head. “Reza's not like him, and it's not the same thing. He doesn't love me, and he doesn't lie and say he does. He likes to play at it, and I...I might like that a little more than I should. But it's been a long time since anyone was nice to me the way he is.” He pulled out a different parka. “Besides, terrifying he may be, but Reza is not a terror in bed. Or anywhere else.” He smirked in a very self-satisfied way. “And he's very enthusiastic about me. Which is a rather pleasant change of pace.”

Amon was disturbed by the calm and almost happy way Hwan was describing Reza. “He's a murderer.” Because if Lieu was, Reza certainly was too. _Triads earn those tattoos_. “And probably a lot of other things. He's no better than Lieu.”

Hwan handed him the new parka, his face serious. “You didn't know who he was, Amon. And you thought your relationship with him was...I don't know. Serious. Real. You thought you were special to him, which you probably were, considering just how drunk he got. He smelled like he drank half the bar.” When Amon pulled the parka down, Hwan stepped forward and straightened it, inspecting it thoroughly. “I'm under no illusions about what I am to Reza. I'm his stress relief, his favorite new plaything. He doesn't love me. He never will.” 

The spoken words seemed to depress Hwan, as he flicked at Amon's side tail. “Do you love him?”

“I like this one on you. And the fur is good quality, as is this.” He smoothed his hand over the blue. “You sometimes see imitation parkas, not waterproof like this is.” 

“Hwan.” Amon was not letting it drop. “Do you?” 

The sharp-featured man sighed. “I've been a whore since I was thirteen, Amon. I don't love my clients. I'm not that stupid.” He was playing with one of his braids now, and Amon saw the red ribbon around the bottom. “It's nice to pretend though. He's good to me, better than I would have hoped for. It's not really love, not like what you felt, but it's enough for me.” He dropped the braid. “Get this one. It's what you need. And honestly, you need gloves too.”

“I can't afford them.”

“Consider them part of my weekly donation.” Hwan dismissed. 

Amon let him lead the way to the gloves, the new parka over his arm. “Have you ever been in love?”

“No. Why?” He looked over his shoulder at Amon, and he softened a bit. “I'm told it stops hurting eventually, if that helps. Time heals all wounds, or so I've heard.” 

“Is he really that bad?” Amon asked, as he tried on a pair of gloves. They were too small, and Hwan handed him a bigger pair. “Lieu, I mean.” He wanted to know the absolute truth, needed to hear it from someone. 

“Reza claims they're very alike, but honestly, no, they're not. Reza's older, and he's more even-tempered than Lieu. Lieu is frightening, not because he's crueler, or angrier, but because he just doesn't care. And that scares me. Reza is at least aware of what he is.” Hwan found a pair that was a little big on Amon's hands, and chose them as the pair. “I'm not going to help you justify keeping that torch burning for him, so don't look for it from me.”

Amon frowned. “What does that mean?”

“What does...spirits, do you ever understand anything?” Hwan asked, with a disbelieving look. “It's like you were living under a rock.” 

“Would you please just explain?” He asked, annoyed now.

“It's just a saying. It means letting yourself stay in love with someone, even when you know you have no good reason. Well, I'm not giving you a reason. I think you did the right thing.” Hwan lingered over the hats. “Do you need one?”

“The parka has a hood.” Amon said, but he couldn't lie and say he didn't want one of them. Pasook had one, and they seemed rather warm. In any case, he couldn't hide things from the man, and he smiled as he pulled one over Amon's head. “Stop, you'll mess up my hair.” 

“Oh, so sorry.” Hwan mocked casually, pulling it off again. “Pick one for yourself then.” 

He chose a simple knitted one, instead of the ones Hwan was playing with, that he could pull over the crown of his skull and his ears, but still keep his hood over it. He liked the pattern knitted into the wool, the bears around the edge. It reminded him of a shirt he'd had as a child, one his mother had made him. Hwan approved enough to let him take it to the clerk, where he paid for the parka, and Hwan added the gloves and hat to his own purchases.

Outside the shop, there was a young boy of indeterminate nationality, already holding some items. Hwan pressed the rest into his hands. “Go back to the house, have the servants take these to my room. Thank you.” 

The errand boy scowled at Hwan resentfully, but did as he was told, and left them. 

“Who is he?” Amon asked. 

“A hopeful for the Triple Threat. He was annoying Bao, so he made him accompany me.” Hwan seemed maliciously pleased with that. “He annoys me too, honestly. I doubt he'll make it in.” Amon watched the boy go, then allowed Hwan to take him down the street. “It's sad, really. All these little brats want to be gangsters. To them it's the only way they can make money. Most of them are mutts, and low class ones at that.” 

“What are their other options?” Amon asked, almost sarcastic, and Hwan caught it. 

“You already know you're right, and the city has problems. Guilds being nationalist boar-q-pines, the Council not doing their damn job, and on and on.” He had that careless, polished tone to his voice that he always got when he was distancing himself from a conversation. “What do you want me to say, Amon? I can agree with you until I turn blue, but that's all I can do.”

“But what if there was something you could do?” Amon asked. “What if there was a way for us to get their attention?” 

“Then you would be doing it on your own, because I like my face the way it is, thank you very much.” He said, stopping in front of restaurant. “I'll buy you some lunch, oh dear leader, and we'll see if you can convince me that this is a good idea.” 

Once they were seated, Amon started talking. Once he started, he found he couldn't stop, as the words poured out of him. He told Hwan about the things he had read, the movements in the former Fire Nation colonies to gain independence, the laws in the different nations regarding Hwan's profession, union laws, and the exact wording of the laws regarding the guilds. 

“But,” Hwan interrupted. “The guilds claim they have the deciding vote.”

Amon shook his head. “No, they don't. They used to, when this was a colony of the Fire Nation. But Avatar Aang had that changed. Councilman Sokka, before the Council was formed, had doubts about the guild's ability to be fair. Students are supposed to be chosen by their own merit. But the guilds are only paying lip service. They've gone back to their old ways, and continue to donate money to the city to keep an investigation at bay. It's how they've managed to block applications for the formations of new unions among the lower professions.” 

“Fascinating,” Hwan said, chin in hand, elbow on the table. “But what does any of that mean to me, or you? We're not rich. I mean, I'm not going to pretend I don't have money stashed away, of course I do, but it's for me to live on after I age out. If that happens. It's certainly not a fortune.” 

“It's not about money.” Amon said, a strange feeling in his stomach as he spoke. 

“Everything is about money.”

“No, this is about getting their attention. Money can't cover public humiliation. If the Council is called out, I think the members who do care will be able to force decisions their way, since the other three will be trying to save face with the city.” It was thinking of his father that had given him the idea. Once his father had been called out in front of everyone, he'd had no choice but to run. There had been no more threats or bribes that could save him. 

The other man sat back in his chair, and Amon bended some more tea into his cup. “Amon, this is is all very...how do I put this...it has the ring of being illegal.” Hwan said, worrying one of his braids. “You're planning something, aren't you? But how are you going to do it? You don't want something traced back to the clinic.” 

“Only if they know who I am.” He replied, as a new idea dawned on him. “What if they don't? What if the movement is anonymous? What if no one knows who we are?” 

Hwan's eyes widened. “What is this 'we' of which you speak? I am not involved in your revolution, Amon, no, absolutely not.” 

Amon leaned forward. “Taruk could have died of his injuries that day, if I hadn't decided to stop by. You can't protect him forever. What if it's Baraz next time? Or someone else in the house?”

“Amon,”

“If you could unionize, if you had _rights_ ,”

“I could be killed!” Hwan hissed. “If the Triad found out, no one could protect me!”

“What if you could protect yourself? Lieu is a non-bender, and you're terrified of him. That technique he uses, chi-blocking, he told me it comes from a style taught by the Kyoshi Island Warriors. There has to be someone who knows it.” If anything, Amon was sure he could understand it well enough from a text. It couldn't be that different from combative waterbending, and combined with his knowledge of chi lines already, he knew he could at least get the concept down. 

“I have no desire to be some kind of fighter, Amon.” Hwan looked appalled at the idea. “I just want Reza to like me enough to keep me. I want to be left alone.”

“Enough that you'll leave others to die?” Amon demanded, trying to appeal to what he knew was a soft spot in Hwan's heart. “Can you live with that on your conscience?” 

“I can live with a lot of things.” Hwan said haughtily, but it was an act. Amon had gotten to him, he could see it, the indecision and doubt in Hwan's eyes. “Amon, I need to think about this. This isn't a decision I can make over noodles.” He frowned. “If I didn't know you better, I'd think this was just a rebound project to get your mind off Lieu. But you really do care about people, don't you?” 

Amon nodded. “Everyone deserves to be treated fairly. That's not a new concept to me.” 

His friend looked at him for a long moment, his face serious. It was an odd effect on him. When he wasn't playing the part of the selfish and thoughtless young man, the features of his face took on a very unsettling appearance. Or maybe it was only because Amon was so used to him being the harmless creature he liked to pretend he was. He was never sure with Hwan just what his real personality was, or if even Hwan himself was sure. 

Finally, he spoke again. “I'll consider it.” 

Amon was pleased by even this small give, and he felt himself smile just a little in relief. “Thank you.”

“By the way,” Hwan said, leaning back over the table. “Did you know you have a tail?”

“What?” He didn't understand what Hwan meant, and the man clearly understood that, to judge by his eye roll.

“You have someone following you, Amon. No, don't look just yet, it's only the twins, but I guarantee they were sent by Lieu.” Hwan picked up his teacup, but it slipped out of his hands in an uncharacteristic clumsiness. Amon bent to grab it, but Hwan nudged him in the ankle as he did. “To your right, the mixed girls with the Water Tribe hair.” He saw them out of the corner of his eye, as he sat back up. 

The twins were Water Tribe and Earth Kingdom, if he had to guess from their unusually pale green eyes and coarse dark hair. “They're waterbenders, the both of them.” Hwan said. “Thi and Tho. They're Reza's little magpies, usually, but he lends them out to Lieu when he needs spies.” 

“Why are they following me?”

“Because Lieu is creepy and weird.” Hwan muttered, but pursed his lips when Amon glared at him. “Because judging from what Reza said, the bastard loves you very much. He's probably had a tail on you for awhile, just to make sure no one thought it would be a fun thing to mess with his boy. He's well known, and I'm betting he took you out to some nice places. Word gets around.” 

“You said they're Reza's. Maybe they're watching you.” Amon said, though he knew Hwan was probably right. “Why would he keep them on me? I told him I don't want anything more to do with him.” 

“Love doesn't work like that.” Hwan replied. “He still wants to protect you. However, I am a whore. No one is stupid enough to believe they could use me against Reza.” 

“I suppose.” But Amon was thinking of the way Reza had watched Hwan, and wondered if Hwan was lying more to Amon or to himself. Even if Reza didn't love him, he cared enough to be upset if someone hurt him. 

When they were done eating, the twins, apparently on to the fact that they had been caught, made no secret that they were leaving at the same time. Amon was more interested in the plain Fire Nation woman who also paid the bill at the same time, and the just barely there peek of ink on her neck. So, he thought, Hwan did have a tail of his own. 

Outside, they parted ways, Hwan kissing him on the cheek pleasantly, before he headed back towards the tea house. Amon wanted to browse the bookstore, a few extra yuan still weighing down his pocket. He found exactly what he was looking for eventually, a thick book on the Kyoshi Island Warriors. He purchased it, and found he had enough to justify stopping into the candy shop as well.

As he lingered over the selection, choosing things he liked, and things he knew his friends liked, with the intention of sharing later, he was aware of the twins, hovering outside. They were exactly alike, as far as he could tell, except one wore her hair in loops over her ears that came up to a bun, and the other wore hers in three braids that looped up to the crown of her head. 

Neither looked at him, or gave any indication that they had any reason for standing in front of the shop than simply because they felt like it. 

He bought the candy, and was talked into the sour lemon candies with the soft vanilla flavoring within at the counter. He liked them more than he wanted to admit, and he could always claim they were for Penna. 

Amon wasn't sure what to think about this at all. He wondered what Lieu was playing at, mostly. Did he think this would win Amon back, or was it simply genuine concern for his safety? The fact that he even had to be concerned was cause enough to give Amon a new reason to never consider letting the man back into his life. He was a little unsettled by it too. 

He chose not to worry himself over it for the time being. There was nothing he could do about it right now, and he had other things to think about. His conversation with Hwan, people in the clinic knowing his secrets, and even still, the pangs in his chest every time he even thought about Lieu. 

He started back to the clinic, ignoring the people around him as he walked, like he usually did. So he could be forgiven for missing the shouting voice, until it was right behind him, grabbing his arm. 

“Noatak!” The voice said, and his heart stopped right in his chest as he turned, terrified of having finally been discovered. The boy grabbing him was Water Tribe, young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, and was utterly unrecognizable until Amon realized he knew his hairstyle, because how many times had he put that hair in those braids, toddler fingers still too clumsy to do it himself? 

The boy was grinning, as he held on to Amon in the middle of the sidewalk, people glaring at them as they walked around them. Over the boy's shoulder, he saw the twins, watching closely, waiting to see if this boy was a threat.

He was, but not how they thought.

“Noatak, you're alive!” The boy cheered, and threw his arms around Amon, squeezing him tight. 

Amon couldn't move, could hardly believe it. 

It was Tarrlok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I did just end the chapter there.


	16. My eyes are damp from the words you left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarrlok reveals why he's in Republic City. Amon learns that even with all his hatred, there's still a small part of him that loved a man who deserved none of it. (The heart is a complicated place) His spirits will never give him more than he can bear, or so he was taught, but even he has his limits. 
> 
> Amon goes to the place he feels safest. 
> 
> _Please don't let it be a mistake to love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Life got in the way of updates, and I actually do have two other in-progress fics with very different tones. Switching between the three is difficult. This is a very transitional chapter. Not a lot happens. Sorry?

His little brother, no longer so little, let him go to look at him, still grinning in disbelief. “Noatak. I can't believe it. It's really you.” In the two years since he had left, Tarrlok had shot up, and was now on his eye level. He had lost the baby fat that had made him look so young, his jaw now defined and his cheekbones sharp. 

He looked very much like their father, actually. Especially with his hair still in the three-braid style their father favored. 

“Noatak, it's me. It's Tarrlok.” Tarrlok looked confused as to why this wasn't a more joyous reunion on both parts, but Amon didn't know what to do. This was too much, in just a few weeks, and he felt a little light-headed. 

He shook himself mentally. “I know who you are.” How could he not know who Tarrlok was, even changed as he was? “What are you doing here?” Why in the world would Tarrlok be all the way in Republic City? What was he doing here, on this street? 

“What am I doing here? What are _you_ doing here?” Tarrlok demanded, half-shaking him. “Noatak, I thought you were dead. Dad and me, we had to tell Mom you had gotten lost, and she-”

“That's not what happened!” His shock was replaced with a much more manageable emotion: outrage. He could certainly handle anger. “You lied to her! The same way you lied when I told her he was the reason you had become so withdrawn, the way he lied when I told her he was training us too hard!” It had been one time, when he was twelve, and Tarrlok was nine. Amon had been trying to help them both, but then Yakone had twisted it, and his mother, his traitorous mother, had sided with him. 

“Well what we were supposed to say?”

Amon narrowed his eyes. “So you lie to her too then, the same way he does. You're the spitting image, so I suppose that fits.” 

Tarrlok withdrew, his eyes wide and damp. “Why are you being like this? I thought you'd be happy to see me. Aren't you?” He was going to cry any second now, Amon knew it. He knew every detail of Tarrlok's face, every tell, knew what the smallest line around his mouth, the littlest crease in his brow, all of it. “Noatak, I thought you were dead.”

It was the way he said it, the tremor in his name, that took the wind out of his anger. It had been so long since he'd even heard it, and in Tarrlok's voice, the only person who had loved him unconditionally for so long. 

So now it was him who wrapped his arms around his brother, holding him tight. “Tarrlok,” he breathed. “Yes, I'm happy to see you.” 

Tarrlok hugged him back enthusiastically. “I missed you Noatak.” He said. “I missed you so much.” 

Over Tarrlok's shoulder, the twins watched. They weren't speaking to each other, or even looking at one another, just observing the brothers with a bored curiousity. How long had they been tailing him, he wondered. What had they seen? 

“Where are you staying?” Amon asked, pulling back from his brother. “A boarding house?” 

His little brother shifted uncomfortably. “Ah. Not exactly. Is there somewhere we can talk?” 

That was a good idea, since they were still blocking pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk. Amon looked around, trying to remember the layout of the neighborhood, then indicated for Tarrlok to follow him back the way he had come, down two blocks, and then over a street. There was a park, meant for spouses to occupy themselves while the other did the shopping, or keep the children occupied. As such, it was rather full, but it had plenty of benches. 

Amon chose one that was somewhat away from the other people, off by the treeline of the pretense at a forest within the park's walls. “No one calls me Noatak anymore. My name is Amon here.” 

“Amon?” Tarrlok frowned. “Why?”

“Because.” He said, as his brother made a face at him. “Why are you here? How did you even get here? How did you afford it?” 

Tarrlok smiled a little. “Oh, that part was easy. I was working on a logging crew for the Capital. It was kind of awful, but they paid really well. And Mom started weaving again, so she's been selling to travelers.”

Amon waited, but Tarrlok said nothing. “And him?”

“Well, that's why I'm here. See, Mom sent me down here, because she had to handle everything at home.” Tarrlok bit his lip, his fingers weaving together nervously. “Noatak, Dad died. Last month.” 

For a minute, Amon couldn't think of anything at all. There was a rushing sound in his ears, like waves crashing, as he settled back on the bench, staring out over the park. The trees had lost all of their leaves, so they were bare now, like great big sticks stuck into the ground. It wasn't quiet, of course. He could hear the traffic outside the park, the people nearby, the birds and small creatures still active around them. 

Somewhere, a tree branch snapped. 

“Good.” He said at last. “I hope he suffered.” 

“Why would you say that?” Tarrlok asked, aghast. “Dad's dead, and you think that's good?” 

“He was a monster.” Amon replied coldly, even as his hands shook in his lap. He folded them together to quell the reaction. “You have no idea the extent of what he did down here, Tarrlok. People still talk about him. He deserved what the Avatar did to him.” 

Tarrlok was mad, he could see that, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when his own emotions were so turbulent inside. “He was our father.” 

“We'd have been better off being raised by wolves.” Amon couldn't think clearly. He felt muddled, his mind a cyclone he couldn't find the eye of. He needed to focus, needed to sort through all of this, figure out how he felt about all of this. Anger, and satisfaction, and vicious joy, those ones burned hot right now, so those were the ones that shaped his words, without full consent of his better judgment. “He was a bastard, and he deserved to die.” Amon so rarely swore, the word felt clumsy in his mouth, sounded that way too. 

“He mourned you, you know, even after you left us.” Tarrlok said, glaring at him. “Dad cried harder than Mom when we put you to rest.” He slumped down on the bench. “He stopped training me after that trip, you know.” 

That at least relieved some of Amon's guilt. “So you were okay.” 

“Yeah, except for the part where I thought my older brother was dead, and it was my fault. Other than that, I was great.” Tarrlok had developed a sharp tongue sometime in the past two years, and it surprised Amon to hear it. He'd never talked back to him when Amon had lived with him. “Why didn't you write to us? At least let us know you weren't dead!” 

“Noatak _is_ dead!” He snapped. “I didn't want you to know, Tarrlok. I wanted to be left alone! And I refuse to pretend to care that he's dead!” Hours and hours of training in the snow, watching his brother cry and being unable to help, constantly being told he was stupid and slow and _useless_ , all of that anger came back in a flood he couldn't stop. “What are you even doing here?” 

“Because Mom thinks Dad had family down here! She wanted me to see if I could find them, and hey, look, I did!” Tarrlok stood, towering over Amon. “More importantly, she wanted me to come apply to schools. Because Mom wants me to have the best future, because she thinks she failed her oldest son, she blames herself for his death, for not listening to him!” 

Amon stood too, furious. “She should! She never listened to us! If she had done something, none of it would have gotten as bad it did!” 

Tarrlok surprised him by shoving him. “When did you get so selfish?” He yelled. “What kind of son does that to a mother? Dad's dead because of you, Noatak!”

“He's dead because of his own crimes!” Amon raised his voice louder than he had in years, as he looked at his brother, who was so similar to him, down to his stupid hair. “Avatar Aang should have let the Council execute him for his crimes!” 

“You know what?” Tarrlok said, his eyes narrowed. “You're right, Noatak is dead! I don't know who you are, and I don't care!” 

His brother walked away from him without another word, leaving Amon standing there, teetering on the verge of something he didn't understand. The people in the park were staring, looking up from their children, from the birds they were feeding, or the papers they were reading with raised brows. They had been loud, he realized. _He_ had been loud. 

Without knowing what he was doing exactly, he turned into the trees, sliding over the protruding tree roots and snowbanks, until he was completely obscured from view. 

Around him, the trees were like skeletons, all except the spruces, and it was one of them he sought, pressing his face to the bark while he tried to breathe. Under his hands, he could feel the water in the tree, running through its veins, little bursts of pressure as the tree did its hardest to get water all the way to the tips of the needles. 

He turned, his back to it, and slid to the ground, pulling his knees to his chest. 

_Tarrlok_

He didn't know what to do, he didn't know at all, he just wanted the world to stop and let him catch up. This was all too much. He couldn't stand anymore. 

There was a rustle, and he snapped his head up to see the twins, at a safe distance, but still there. 

Angry, he scrambled to his feet. “Leave me alone!” He bended a water whip at them, but with only a slide of her foot and a crook of her hand, the one with her hair in a bun deflected. “Just go away! Go away and let me be, _please_ , I _can't_ ,” Amon gasped, falling back against the truck. “I can't.” 

His throat ached, as he began to cry into his arms. His stomach hurt like he had been punched, but more than that, the turbulence within had become a vortex of hurt and hatred and anger and inexplicable sorrow. 

Yakone was dead.

His _father_ was dead. 

With his back to the tree, the water pumping through was like the blood in his own veins. Through his irrational sobs, the tree remained steady at his back. He tried to concentrate on it, tried to focus himself, but he couldn't. The tears just kept coming, and he bit down on his new parka to stop himself from being heard.

Apparently, he failed though, because someone was approaching, their boots crunching the snow. 

Someone ducked under the spruce, and sat down beside him. 

He knew that aftershave.

“What do you want?” 

Beside him, he felt Lieu shrug. “A lot of things.” He said. “I want my brother to be alive. I want that firebender dead.” Amon shuddered when Lieu touched his back. “I want you to forgive me. And I want to know why you're crying in some park.” 

Amon smirked without humor. “Where are your spies?”

“I told the twins to go see if Reza wanted them for anything. He usually does.” Lieu shrugged again. “I was just borrowing them.”

“How many whores does Reza need?” He asked, feeling bad the instant he said it.

“Hm?” Lieu seemed confused. “He's not sleeping with them. They worship Reza.” The hand on his back started to rotate in circles, and Amon gave up. He sunk into Lieu, letting the man wrap his arms around Amon. “Don't know the whole story.” 

Amon wasn't listening. All he cared about was the rise and fall of Lieu's chest, his familiar heartbeat, the comforting smell of his aftershave filling Amon's nose. 

“I only had them watching you to make sure you were safe. They're not telling me anything personal. Thi was concerned when you actually attacked her. She came and got me just to make sure you weren't having a breakdown.” Lieu kissed the top of his head. “Guess you must be though, if you're letting me touch you.” Another kiss, and Amon wept harder, because he couldn't understand why he couldn't have anything simple. How was it possible to hate and love someone at the same time? 

“My father is dead.” He said, into Lieu's shirt.

Lieu was silent. But his arms tightened, as he pulled Amon in even closer. “I'm sorry.” He said, after a few minutes, and that was all until Amon finally cried himself out. He was cold, even in his new parka, as the day grew late, so Lieu had to be as well. 

“Why are you here?” He asked, pushing himself away. Lieu let him, standing with Amon, brushing the snow and needles off of him. 

“You know why.” Lieu said, sounding tired. 

Amon wanted to laugh, or start sobbing again. He didn't know which. “Do you know who I am? Who I'm mourning?” He suddenly wanted to tell Lieu, if only because it would drive him away from Amon forever. He hated him again now, hated the sight if him with that expression on his face, like he thought Amon was worth his devotion. “Are you so stupid you can't put the pieces together? Are you even suspicious?”

When Lieu just looked at him, with that same idiotic look, Amon was only too happy to crush it. 

“I fixed your mother's leg with _bloodbending_ , you moron.” He spat. “That's why I could do it when the other healers couldn't, because I can bloodbend, because I'm Yakone's oldest son.” 

He regretted it the second the words were out of his mouth, and he looked away from Lieu. He felt like he was drowning in his own emotions, and he couldn't figure out what exactly he had been trying to accomplish with that particular confession. How did this work? How did he seesaw between wanting Lieu to hate him and Lieu to love him so easily? 

But the condemnation that he expected never came, as instead, Lieu's arms came back around him, and Amon stiffened. “Stop.” He commanded. “Stop it, just stop. Let me go. You're supposed to hate me.” If he really wanted Lieu to stop, he should struggle, a voice in his head said. 

“Not possible.” 

“I hate you!” He hissed, even as he grabbed on to Lieu and buried his face into his shoulder. “I hate you, so hate me, and leave me alone, and I just, Lieu, please, stop, _stop_ ,” but despite that, he clung to him all the harder. “I'm _his_ son. And I hated him. I wanted him dead.” He was crying again, dry sobs, his throat raw enough it hurt. “I hated him.” 

One of Lieu's hands slid up to rest on the nape of his neck, his thumb working into the skin.

“Lieu,” Amon said, giving in. “Take me home. Please.” 

“Okay.” 

They didn't go back to the building Amon knew though. Instead, Lieu steered him into a much nicer section of buildings, and into one with an elevator operated by a woman wearing a round black cap over her neatly braided hair. 

She took them to the right floor without being asked, then pulled aside the gate for them. Amon had never been in an elevator, and had this been any other time, he'd of been fascinated. 

There was a stout woman in green waiting in the foyer, and she didn't change expression as they walked past, into an apartment that made Lieu's old one look cozy. The flooring was hardwood, but there was a seating area with tatami in what was probably supposed to be the living room, or maybe the dining area. Either way, Lieu had put a low table that looked brand new there, a heavy ashtray in the middle. The place was almost empty, really. It had the smell of cigarettes, like Lieu and others had been smoking inside.

Zolt probably smoked too, he thought. And he knew for sure Reza did. Maybe they had sat at that table and smoked with Lieu.

“A change in finances?” He asked dully, as he took his new parka and gloves off at the door, followed by his boots and socks. Some thoughtful person had put a bench in the entryway for that purpose, not likely Lieu. A lackey, or a servant of some kind.

“No.” Lieu tossed his own boots aside carelessly. “Just finally acknowledged it.” 

Amon didn't know what to do, didn't know what he was even doing here. He needed to leave now, while he still had some self-respect left. Instead, he sat down on the low, plain sofa, its twin across from him. They were blue, so dark they were almost black, the fabric smooth under his bare hands. He didn't think Lieu had bought these either.

Lieu handed him a mug of tea. Amon hadn't even noticed him making it.

It was chamomile with honey, for his throat. 

He could have started crying again just from that. 

“Did you think it would mean I'd stop loving you?” Lieu asked, after they'd sat in silence for a few minutes. “Because that's not how love works, Amon. I don't know that I _can_ stop loving you, if that's what you're after.” He sighed. “I'm pretty pissed off, if that helps. Or I would be, if you weren't acting like this.”

Amon put the teacup down on the floor. “I want to hate you.” He said. “But I can't seem to.” 

Lieu just sighed again, sounding immeasurably tired. Amon could relate to the feeling, as he leaned on Lieu's shoulder, the other man wrapping his arm around Amon without hesitation. “Nothing is ever simple. I know we want it to be, and fuck, I wish we were simple again, I do, but you have got to let go of this black and white world view you have.”

“Why did you choose to go with Zolt?” Amon asked, letting himself burrow into Lieu's chest. He was warm, and Amon was so cold now. 

Under him, Lieu shrugged. “I needed someone. Anyone. Nanook's death was tearing me up. I blamed myself, I blamed the Agni Kai. I wanted to make someone pay. Went after the first firebender I saw, and it was Zolt.” His fingers were playing with Amon's wolf tail as he spoke. “I don't know. I impressed him. And he understood me. Reza was still in bad shape, and Zolt was pretty fucked up over it.” The fingers in his hair skated over his scalp, to brush a side tail. “He showed me where to direct that anger. And he gave me a place to belong, which doesn't exactly come easy when you look like me.” 

Amon closed his eyes. “You hurt people.” Because that was absolutely true, he knew it. “How am I supposed to get past that with you?”

“Your dad tried to kill my mom, and ruined her life for over twenty years, but I'm getting through it pretty well.” Lieu pointed out, with all his usual subtlety. “Why don't you try talking to me, instead of pushing me away?” The hand trailed down, to cup the back of his neck. 

He shook his head. “I don't want to talk anymore. I don't want to think.” He pulled back and opened his eyes, looking at Lieu, and feeling like he was already making a mistake. 

When Lieu leaned over and kissed him, he actually shook, and it just got worse as Lieu pulled him to his feet and back into his arms, still kissing him. “I love you.” Lieu said, against his jawline. “I love you so much, Amon. Out of everything I ever told you, that's the one that's absolutely true, down to my bones, I swear.” 

“So love me.” He begged, because Lieu was the only thing keeping him together right now. “Please.” 

He could have undressed himself, in Lieu's new bedroom, but it was so much easier to let Lieu do it, let him strip Amon's layers away until it was just them, just their skin pressed together. While Lieu was occupied with his neck, he took out his hair ties, Lieu running his fingers through it once it was down. 

If he'd spoken at all, Amon was sure he would have broken into a thousand pieces. But Lieu never asked him a single question, just kept speaking to him, as he pushed back inside of Amon and took away all the emptiness. “You feel perfect,” whispered into his clavicle. “You feel like home,” breathed into his neck. “You feel like mine,” against his mouth, and he took the words in, swallowed them down to wrap around his heart and soothe all the pain. 

He could be Lieu's, just for now, if it meant he didn't have to be independent. If it meant he could wrap his arms around Lieu and pull him down against him, use his weight to pin himself down, keep himself there and real. 

“Hey,” Lieu sounded afraid, as he brushed his hand over Amon's face in the afterglow. “Why are you crying? Did I hurt you? I thought you wanted it, you said,” he stopped, looking confused. 

Amon shook his head. “Did you know you cry when you're anxious, or overwhelmed? Not when you're sad, or in pain.” He pulled Lieu back, after he'd bended away the mess using water from the little waterfall on the dresser. Silly thing, he thought distantly. He wondered why Lieu had bought it. “I don't know which I am.” 

Lieu held him close, either way, so it didn't matter. “How old were you when you realized you were a bender?” 

“My mother said she knew from the beginning. I'd freeze my soup if I didn't like it.” He closed his eyes. “Tarrlok didn't know until he was about four or five. He must have been five, because it was right before my eight birthday.” 

“And Tarrlok is your little brother?” Lieu asked, his hand tracing up and down Amon's back. “So is he dead? Or is he the kid Thi and Tho were talking about?” 

“That was him.” Amon curled further into Lieu at the thought. “You have to understand, my father was crushing me under his legacy, and I couldn't, I just,” he exhaled against Lieu's chest, as Lieu kept stroking his back soothingly. “He was going to kill us. Maybe not physically, but inside, I already felt dead. I wanted to die. I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. I hated him, I hated myself, I even hated Tarrlok, because I had to protect him.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I just want it all to stop. I want everything to _stop_.”

Lieu started digging his knuckles in a little so that Amon gasped. When he did, Lieu took the opportunity to kiss him again, and again, and again, until all he could think about was Lieu, everything else driven away. All 

This was a mistake, he already knew. He shouldn't be here, with Lieu, shouldn't be letting Lieu tell Amon he loved him, hold him, kiss him. He was using him, and it was wrong, but he loved Lieu so much, and he was the only person that made Amon feel safe. The only person who made things make sense.

So when Lieu's kisses melted from comforting to something else, he wrapped his arms around him and kissed him back. 

By the time morning dawned, Amon's mind was blissfully blank. His body ached, and he didn't think he could come again if his life depended on it, but none of it mattered. He was floating in a peaceful place between sleep and awake, the covers warm around him, the apartment silent. He was alone, but he could smell tea, and food. Lieu was cooking, he thought, when he finally heard the muted sounds of movement. 

As he woke fully, he became more aware of his current state. His sweat had dried on his skin, and even with his clean-up, the evidence of sex was all over him. With reluctance, he dragged himself from the bed, and looked out the bedroom door, to see Lieu standing there. 

“Thought I heard you. Let me guess, you want a shower?” Amon nodded, rubbing at his eyes. “Lucky you, this place actually has its own bathroom. With a _bath_.” When Amon stared, he smiled, and leaned down to kiss him on the edge of his mouth. “Thought you'd like that.” 

It was a little uncomfortable, actually. He'd never been in a private bathroom, and it felt a little intrusive, oddly enough. Lieu had all his toiletries lying about, instead of in a basket. There was a straight razor on the counter, beside lather, both of which Amon used so that his face was smooth again. He hated the prickle of stubble on his face. 

There were sets of towels, also bought by someone else, he suspected. Some lackey of Lieu's, perhaps, like the boy carrying Hwan's things. They were nicer than any Amon had ever felt, thick and fluffy. 

The soaps were plain, without any perfume, but the shampoo smelled strongly of mint. It made his scalp feel like something was crawling on it, and it dried his hair out horribly. He ended up spending more time untangling it than anything else, before he finally sunk down into the hot water. 

His internal clock told him it was late morning. His shift had already begun at the clinic. People would be missing him. 

He felt he should care more than he did. 

He mostly just felt like going back to sleep. 

Someone, Lieu, knocked, and he called for him to come in. He had clean clothes for Amon that he placed on the counter. His, Amon thought. They would be too long in the arm, but they were better than his own, which were probably still wet. 

“I sent a runner to the clinic. Told them you were sick.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Made breakfast too, which you should consider an honor, because I hate cooking.” When Amon said nothing, he frowned in concern. “You alright?”

Amon shook his head, and sunk below the water once more before surfacing, and getting out of the tub. Lieu was waiting with a towel, which he used to dry Amon off. He supposed he should be insulted by Lieu treating him like a child, but really, now that he was standing, he didn't have the energy to bother with anything else.

Lieu looked down as he spoke, concentrating on drying Amon off. “I could tell you where your brother is, if you want. So you can go talk to him.” The implication being that someone had followed Tarrlok to wherever he was staying. 

“No.” Amon couldn't deal with Tarrlok right now. He couldn't deal with any of it. He didn't want to. “I want to stay with you.” 

“Alright.” Lieu stepped back so Amon could dress. “I'm not going to argue with that.” 

The sleeves almost covered his fingers. The shirt smelled like laundry soap, not Lieu, and Amon found himself disappointed. 

Lieu had made miso and rice, simple things that required few ingredients. He wondered if the other man had had to go out for even these things, or if he'd sent one of the people in the foyer. It was awfully convenient, he thought idly. People like Hwan seemed dependent on servants altogether. He didn't think Hwan could cook at all. 

“What are you planning on doing today?” Lieu asked. “I want you here, don't get me wrong. But Reza usually comes by in the afternoon. I know you've met him, if you've been visiting Hwan.” He laughed, not a happy sound. “I don't think you're his biggest fan, considering.” That last word was meant to encompass it all, he supposed. His hatred of Lieu and Reza's business, his friendship with Hwan, his obvious worry over Hwan's dangerous relationship with Reza. 

“Bao said being Reza's gave Hwan a measure of security.” Amon said, studying his tea. “Is that true?” 

“Maybe.” Lieu shrugged. “Our other house got hit by Red Monsoon. The twins and Lana took care of it, but they hurt a lot of the girls pretty bad. If they go after his, they'll think twice before putting their hands on Hwan if they want to live.” 

“But?” Amon prompted, sensing another half to Lieu's thoughts.

The man sighed. “I'm not going to lie and say Reza doesn't have a nasty temper. It takes a lot to get him to show it, but once he does, it's best to clear a path. He's not too good at finesse, but he packs a punch. I saw him engulf a building once with just three strikes. And it wasn't a small one.” 

“Will he hurt Hwan?” He wanted to protect his friend, wanted to be somehow useful in the world. 

“I don't know.” Lieu was being honest, but Amon almost wished he would just lie to make him feel better. Maybe they'd had enough lies between them though. 

“You can ask.” Amon suggested, when silence fell. “I can't promise that I'll answer, but I won't get angry at questions.” He didn't have the energy to be angry, really. He mostly just wanted to go back to bed, and close his eyes to the world. But he owed Lieu something, after last night. 

Lieu refilled Amon's teacup. “Did you always know who he was?” Amon shook his head, but couldn't bring himself to give the details. Lieu didn't ask though, so it didn't matter. “And he's the reason you wanted to die in that storm?”

“Yes.” Amon swallowed. He remembered rambling about this in Lieu's arms in the park, but in retrospect, it all sounded rather disjointed. 

“How long were you going to keep it from me?” 

Amon smirked half-heartedly. “How long were you going to keep all of this from me?” 

“Fair enough.” Lieu reached out, and brushed Amon's hair behind his ear. “That night, the first night, I knew I couldn't let you know.” He chuckled a little. “I knew there was no way it would work if you knew. So I thought I'd wait, until you loved me.” Lieu frowned. “Or until you thought you loved me.” 

Now his hand fell away from Amon, a caution he'd never had before flitting across his features. 

“You lied to me.” Amon said. “And don't say I lied too, yours was different. Mine is the past, and it's dead now. Yours is here, and real, and awful.” He looked away. “I shouldn't be here. Not with you.” 

“But you _are_ ,” Lieu was cupping his chin, forcing Amon to look at him. “You didn't go to the clinic, to your friends, you came to me. You could have pushed me away in the park, and you didn't. I'm the one you trust to see that part of you. I'm the one you love.” 

When he leaned across, and kissed Amon, he should have turned his face, he knew. But it was so natural to kiss Lieu, to let him have Amon right now. 

It frightened him, how easily he was consciously making the wrong decision, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself. His body was acting on its own, his heart overruling his mind this time. He needed comfort now more than he needed a clear conscience. 

His fighter was the only one who could give it to him. 

-

_What am I doing?_

Amon was praying silently in the bathroom, once again submerged in the hot water. Lieu had left him alone, after he had gotten washed up as well. It was an indulgence he had long missed, and he was long past fighting his base needs by now. 

_Yue, please. I need an answer._ He pleaded. _Why am I still drawn to him? Why was it him?_

_Why do I care that Yakone is dead?_

_What am I supposed to do about Tarrlok?_

_Was I wrong to let them think I was dead? Am I truly selfish, like he said?_

All that answered was the echo of the water on the tiles.

-

He could smell the cigarettes before anything else. The smell was cloying on top of the bitter stench of the burning tobacco. Cigarettes rolled with something else then. Lieu smoked straight tobacco, so this was someone else. 

Curious, he rose from the bed, clad in Lieu's clothes, even after his second bath. He gathered his hair up in the wolf tail, and pulled the two side tails into their lacings before he ventured out, still proper, even with circles under his eyes. 

There were people in the apartment.

“The girls at the White Lily are all healed up, but three of them paid their way out of their contracts, not that I blame them.” A woman's voice, rough. “I managed to convince the top three earners to stay, at least, after much negotiating.” 

“Negotiating with your clothes on, right?” A more familiar voice, a man's. Amon couldn't place it. 

“Oh dear cousin, you do not want to get on my case about fucking whores. Don't forget that I've seen how you act around that long-haired one.” A half-laugh, raspy sounding. The woman had been smoking for a long time, if Amon had to guess. He vaguely wondered what her lungs looked like, in comparison to the one Kanna had on display. “I'm just glad you finally started screwing him. You were fast approaching pathetic.”

A cough. “What the fuck kind of incense are you burning, Lieu? Smells like a temple in here.” 

“My company doesn't like the smell of cigarettes.” Lieu, finally, sounding bored. 

“Company?” The woman asked, sounding interested. “Ooh, let me see. I want to see what Lieu likes, since I'm not his type.” 

Amon was a little surprised by the brief jealousy that her comment caused. He hadn't known himself to be possessive like that, but now faced with it, he found he really didn't like the idea of someone else flirting with his fighter. 

“Mind your own damn business, Aiko.” The other man said, definitely annoyed. Now Amon placed him as Reza, the tone more familiar than the bored way he had been speaking before. “Glad you're moving on. You kept drinking the good liquor, and if you got ash or anything else on one more tatami, the house manager was going to cry. I don't need that shit.” 

If he had been briefly jealous over the woman they called Aiko giving Lieu too much attention, he was most definitely jealous now, at the thought of Lieu 'moving on'. 

Lieu's answer doused the flame though. “Don't need to. I got it right the first time.” 

“What, he took you back? Find that hard to believe.” Reza laughed, and inhaled sharply. 

Amon wondered if he should show himself, if it was safe. But then, Reza already knew him, and the woman probably did too. What did it matter anymore?

So he stepped out from around the corner, to see Reza and the woman from the restaurant. Up close, she was plain and fair, with pale yellow eyes and thick black hair bound up at the crown of her skull. She dressed as plain as her face, and if it wasn't for the head of the mongoose dragon that rose over her collar to roar against her jugular, the bamboo it hid in brushing the back of her ear, she would have easily faded into the background. 

“Well, well,” she purred, tapping her cigarette against the ashtray. She used a holder, black with a silver tip, her red nails a bright contrast against it. “So this is your type. You and Zolt really do have a lot in common.” She took a hit off her cigarette. “Young and Water Tribe.” She smirked at him, and he found it strange that despite the care put into her nails, she wore no make-up. “Long night, sweetheart? Lieu's got a lot of energy. Bet he keeps you up.” 

Amon didn't react. It was exactly what she wanted, after all. “That's my concern. Not yours.” 

“So it is.” She replied, her smirk a little tighter. “Friendly little thing, aren't you?” 

“He can be.” Reza said, not looking at either of them, but instead, out the window. “When he doesn't hate you on sight.” He turned now so that he could actually see Amon with his eye, and smiled, the good side of his mouth pulling up, the bad side not as far. “Don't worry, healer. It's a common reaction to her. I'd never talk to her if we didn't share blood.” 

Lieu was watching him with barely hidden worry. “Do you need something? I could send someone out for food.” He looked a little sheepish, as Reza occupied himself with lighting his next cigarette, and Aiko exhaled a plume of smoke. “There's not really anything here. I hadn't even used the kitchen until today.” 

“Doesn't even offer us tea, the rude bastard.” Aiko said. 

“I am hungry.” Amon admitted, as his stomach growled, unhappy about the exertion of the night previous and today, with only yesterday's lunch and the little breakfast he'd eaten. “What's around here to eat?” He couldn't recall anything from their walk here, his mind revolving around his own confusion at the time. 

“What do you want?” Lieu asked, standing. “Thi and Tho are here, and so is Li. Any of them can go.”

Lieu came closer, backing Amon up a little so that their exchange was more private. “Lieu, I can go myself.” He didn't need to be treated like an invalid, much as he felt like one. “I don't need servants running around for me.” 

“Yeah,” Lieu smirked. “The magpies won't mind being called that, but I wouldn't suggest that word for Li.” He tugged on Amon's side tail a little, and Amon hadn't even realized how much he'd missed the gesture until right then. He closed his eyes, and leaned forward to rest against Lieu's chest. “Hey, don't worry about it. They're here to do what I say.” 

Amon hated the sound of it, but he was too tired to fight. “Do you remember the restaurant you took me to after my exams?” That night, in his arms, safe from the world. That was what Amon remembered. “With the alcohol?” 

“Yeah.” Lieu was smiling. Amon knew that, even if he couldn't see his face. “I remember.” 

“Something from there. Or similar.” He couldn't even remember where that restaurant was, or how far away it was, but he didn't care. He just wanted it all to go back to the way it was, where he was safely hating Yakone from a distance, and loving Lieu with no complications. “Please.” 

“No problem.” Lieu kissed him on the temple, and stepped away, leaving Amon standing alone against the wall. “Reza, where are the twins?” 

“Listening in, if I know them.” 

They appeared out of the foyer silently, their strange pale eyes flicking up to Amon before they turned to Reza obediently. “Yes Reza?” One asked. “Do you want us to go get lunch?” The other added, but their voices were so exactly alike, it was the same as the other speaking. Amon had always found twins unsettling, and these two were the epitome of his problem with them. They never seemed like individuals, when they were like this. More like one person divided. 

“Go to the Plum Tree, over on 4th.” Lieu directed. “Get everything you think looks good for the day.” 

The two nodded. “Of course.” One said, or maybe both. “Could we see you in the hall, Lieu? For just a moment?” 

“Yeah.” Lieu said, calling to Amon over his shoulder, “I'll be right back.” He followed them out, the door shutting firmly. 

“You like Fire Nation food then, tundra boy?” Aiko asked, teasing, but it was an unkind way. 

“Aiko, go down to the Hidden Garden, check on things for me.” Reza was not asking. Amon barely knew him, and he could understand that much. “Bao could probably use a break anyway.”

“A break from what?” Aiko grumbled, even as she stood. “Lying on his ass all day?” 

Amon could understand how one would think that. But the constant focus was probably more taxing on Bao than people realized. Or rather, people other than Reza. He got the feeling Reza was like Lieu, in that he was a lot more observant than he let on. 

The scarred man said nothing in response, and he clearly didn't need to. Aiko was already leaving without any more argument, putting her boots on at the door. She left without another word, and he heard a brief silence as she walked out. Whatever the twins were talking to Lieu about, they didn't want to be overheard. 

Alone with Reza, Amon was unsure of how to proceed. The time before had been different, the two of them ignorant of one another, but now they both knew just who the other was. And so far, Amon had no idea just what to expect of this man. He didn't think Reza knew what to expect from him either. 

“Do you mind coming by the house?” Reza asked, his good side to Amon. “Taruk was hurt, and he's in more pain than he's letting on. I had a healer come in, but they didn't do him much good. And two others took a fall down the stairs.” When Amon frowned, Reza shook his head. “No, I mean literally. Sei tripped and took Azhar down with him. They hit poor Meiko at the bottom too. She's one of the laundresses. She's alright, but she could use a looking over too.” 

“I could.” Amon was almost afraid to ask, but he had to. “Is Hwan alright?”

“You just saw him yesterday.” Reza replied, tapping the ash off his cigarette. “He's fine. He was sleeping when I left.” Amon hated him a little for saying it, for reminding him that Reza was in his friend's bed. “Don't look at me like that, alright?” Reza broke into his thoughts. “He started it, not me.” 

Amon smirked humorlessly. “You're taking advantage of him, and you know it. Otherwise you wouldn't feel the need to justify yourself to me.” When Reza looked away from him, his smirk faded. “He's a person. Not a toy. Don't treat him like one.” 

“Yeah, he's not.” Reza agreed. “And Lieu's not a safety net. Don't treat him like one.”

“I'm not-”

“Just because the twins don't tell Lieu everything, doesn't mean they don't tell me. And they have great hearing.” Reza said, his voice low and almost threatening. 

Amon didn't know what to say to that, too afraid of just what exactly the twins had overheard between him and Tarrlok, or worse, when he and Lieu were in the trees. 

The door opened, and Lieu came back in, without the twins. He rejoined Reza at the table, then turned to Amon, seeming to expect him to sit with them. Amon didn't want to leave them alone again, worried Reza was going to start filling Lieu's head with doubts, perhaps justified ones, about Amon. Except there really was no tea on the table, and Amon wanted some. His throat still hurt from his earlier episodes. 

“Do you have any tea left?” Amon asked. 

“There was some in the place when I moved in. I don't what it all is. One of the lackeys stocked it for me.” 

Amon headed into the kitchen before Lieu could stand. Just like the rest of the place, it felt mostly untouched. The cabinets were mostly empty, a few dishes and cooking implements that had probably come from the old apartment looking rather lonely in two. Like Lieu had said, there were a few tins of tea leaves on the counter. 

He opened one and smelled, trying to find the flavor. Peaches, he was sure. It was probably a white tea then. Hard to tell in the dimly lit kitchen. The next one had a less sweet scent, a combination of some sort. He chose it, and filled the strainer in the teapot. 

There was a sink with a tap, of course. He expected no less from a building like this. Once the kettle was filled, he turned the gas on and lit the stove, setting it down on the open flame. Sometimes he thought it must be nice to be a firebender.

Lieu was telling a story, he thought, to judge from the intonations of his voice. He was half-laughing as he did, and when Amon looked over his shoulder, he saw him making big gestures with his hands. 

The water came to a boil, and Amon poured it over the tea leaves. 

“You're such an idiot.” Reza was saying. “One of these days, you're going to get more than you can handle.” 

Lieu scoffed. “Bastard was trying to steal my prize. Didn't have a choice.” Now Reza chuckled, and so did Lieu. “Besides, he made a damn good offer. It was how I got his name.” 

Amon stared down at the teapot, his heart twisting itself into a knot as he figured out what Lieu was talking about. That fight, his demand that Lieu win all the fights if he wanted his name. 

And Lieu had. 

“I'll see you.” He heard Reza say. “I better get over to Zolt's.” 

“How's it going over there?” Lieu asked. “Any better?”

“Who the fuck knows with those two? I just want to make sure they're both alive.” There were the sounds of leaving, Lieu seeing Reza to the door, while the tea steeped. 

He brought the teapot out to the table, and put it on the wooden stand meant to keep it off the table. Lieu had been using it to hold the ashtray. 

The other man sat down beside him instead of on his own side, as Amon bended tea into his cup. When Amon leaned into him, he only turned to make it easier, his arms coming around him. For a long time, that was how they sat, Amon drinking his tea while Lieu held him. 

“Amon,” Lieu kept his voice low, the words just for Amon. “Part of the reason I picked this place is because it has that bathtub. And I knew you would like it.” 

The implication behind that was that this place had been intended to please Amon as much as it did Lieu, that Lieu had been making plans for a future that included Amon. 

Amon put his empty teacup down, and curled into Lieu. “I love you.” He said it because it was true, because he wanted to pretend, for just a little while, that it was a future that could exist. And maybe it still could, he thought. There had to be a way he could keep this, he thought. Because he couldn't bear any of this without him. 

His fighter was entwining their fingers, his skin even paler against Amon's. He kissed Amon on the mouth, his lips dry, then on the temple again. “I love you too.” 

He closed his eyes, and hoped it was enough for now.


	17. Interlude: Hwan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amon is the savior of the downtrodden, the voice of the people that the city ignores. But who are these people, and just how much will it take to get them to fight? 
> 
> In a fight, we must know our allies and enemies. Sometimes, they can even be the same person.
> 
> Reza comes back to Hwan. Just who is Hwan loyal to, when it comes down to it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N So, anyone who follows me on Tumblr saw that I messed up my arm. Well, it started to recover, but then I thought going to the gun range and shooting the new rifle was a good idea. Hey, guess who makes good decisions? Either way, my hand is really stiff, so typing is slowwwww right now.

Hwan wasn't sleeping when Reza woke, though he pretended to be. The other man rose, stretching as he did, while Hwan remained quiet, his breathing even. Reza made his way around the room, finding his discarded clothing from earlier. Hwan had been brushing his hair at the dressing table when Reza had come up, in a mood, and well, things had proceeded from there. They had barely made it to the bed this time, Reza's enthusiasm making him laugh into the man's shoulder. 

_“I'm not going anywhere!” Another laugh he couldn't fight, as Reza kissed his neck._

_“Exactly.”_

Once Reza was dressed, he expected him to leave, but instead, he leaned over the bed, his good hand raking through Hwan's hair. “Hey,” he whispered, and Hwan feigned a half-asleep mumble. “I'll be back in a few hours. Bao is at the door, and there's a few others stationed outside.” 

Hwan mumbled again, and Reza sighed. He started to draw back, but Hwan protested before he could stop himself. “It's cold.” He muttered. When Reza was in the bed, he was warm, Reza's high body heat exactly what he wanted. Now the sheets were rapidly cooling. 

“I'll light the hibachi.” Reza said, indulging him. “I have to go.” But he still lingered, and Hwan realized what he wanted, but was too afraid to ask for. So Hwan turned a little, and raised a hand to brush Reza's hair. 

“I want a kiss.” He demanded. The scarred man complied, and Hwan let him, his eyes still closed. He couldn't kiss Reza with his eyes open. It was too much for him, the way Reza kissed him. 

The other man pulled away. “I'll be back in awhile. Stay out of trouble.”

True to his word, he lit the hibachi first, then slipped out the door, light from the hall briefly making a glow behind Hwan's eyelids. Once he was alone, he opened his eyes, as he pulled the quilt up higher over his shoulders. Already, the heat that Reza provided was mostly gone, and Hwan was chilly, even under his blankets. He was always cold, it seemed. 

Except when Reza was in bed with him, when he held Hwan in his sleep. He had never expected Reza to be that kind of man, but he was, and it wasn't just in bed. It was in the kitchen, when Hwan was making tea, an arm around his waist and a kiss against his hair. In the garden, in that swing he'd built Hwan, holding on to the ropes, hovering over him. Playing with his braid while they played go, not concentrating on the board at all. Reza wanted to touch him. 

It was getting to be too much. 

Sex with a client was not a passionate affair. For them, Hwan was just a body they liked. He didn't mind, honestly. It was his job, and the sex being as clinical as it was was just a part of it. 

It wasn't like that with Reza, and he didn't know what to do with that. When Reza was with him, it felt like it was about Hwan, specifically. Like Reza wanted _him_. 

He shouldn't have kissed him. 

Giving up sleep as a lost cause, he got up and pulled the painted screen back, so the light came through the doors. It was sunny, for once, and it streamed through the white panels to light his room up. It probably smelled stale inside, he reasoned, as he opened up the doors to let the fresh air in. It was freezing outside, icicles melting and dripping from the roof. 

He stripped the bed, and put all of it in a basket. The pillow on the right smelled like cigarettes and cloves, Reza's poison of choice. He hated cigarettes, hated the acrid scent that they left on everything, the way the smoke stained things. 

There was no excuse for how he had stopped fighting Reza on them. He wasn't allowed to smoke in Hwan's room, or around him, but he made not other demands, even though he knew now was the time to press his influence. He just had no desire to fight with the other man. 

His clothes needed to be washed. And he needed a bath. He could smell it in his hair.

He took the bedding down first, more concerned over having a place to sleep, and then brought a basket of clothing to the laundresses as well. 

“Urgh,” Meiko made a face when she lifted out the bedding. “Why does he smoke those clove ones? They smell awful. And it's on everything.” She pointed out disdainfully, smelling the shirt Hwan had worn the day before. “He's going to ruin your clothing at this rate. I can only do so much.” 

“Hm.” Hwan shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it.” 

Meiko was a rare mutt of all three nations. She had dark skin, but brown eyes and a pointed jawline, her hair black, but coarse and dull. Thankfully for her, she had been born a waterbender of middling ability, which had kept her somewhat safe from the streets. Now she was a laundress in the house, hidden away behind their stone walls. 

She frowned at him, wrinkling her nose. “Something wrong?”

Hwan shook his head. “I'm fine. Just tired.” 

“Ah.” She drew the word out. “Reza's been pretty pent-up, I would think.” 

He tried to smile at her, but it was half-hearted at best. He should eat, he knew, but he didn't care to just yet. Instead, he went upstairs. The servants would clean the room if he told them to, but he liked to do it himself.

Cleaning off his dressing table, he was methodical, like he was with everything. He removed every item, and then carefully dusted it, making sure to get into every corner, until the dark wood shone. The mirror above was next, first the frame, then the glass. 

His own reflection looked drawn. His wasn't a face that lent well to stress. 

Amon's words were still ringing through his head like an echo, making his heart race. A revolution was a ridiculous idea, of course, he _knew_ that, but the thought of Taruk, twisted in pain on his bed, the memory or his own injuries, those were very good arguments. It wasn't fair. None of it was. 

_Life's not fair_ , he reminded himself, and revolutions always made things worse before they got better. He had studied enough history to know that. And he had already been through enough bad, he didn't want anymore. 

He dusted every item thoroughly before he placed it in its proper spot. Against the pale skin of his wrists, his own veins were a stark shade of teal. He hadn't always been so pale, of course. He remembered being darker as a child, when he and Hye had played outside every day they weren't confined in a school room. That was before, though. It did him no good to dwell on that. 

What would it be like, he thought, idly circling his wrist with his own index finger and thumb, to be strong? He had always been fine-boned, his father and mother both from middling Earth Kingdom gentry. He had always thought he was too slender, too weak, to ever be seen as a threat physically. But he had played the part of the victim well, hadn't he? 

Lieu was slender. Maybe not as much as Hwan, and he was much taller, but he was not a thickly-built man, not like Zolt. He wasn't even a bender. And yet, people feared him. 

He had been trained to dance since he was a child, more so once he was an entertainer. He was well-coordinated. Could he learn what Lieu knew? It seemed like he was too old, really. But to be able to defend himself would be fantastic for him. 

To not be so dependent would be fantastic. 

He finished the chore, and moved on to the rest of the room, cleaning the headboard, the other furniture. He moved the table over and took the rug out from underneath, to hang over the railing of the balcony. The porch was cold under his bare feet, the rug heavy and awkward. He managed just fine though. 

It needed to be cleaned, he could see, in the bright light of day. The tatami did too, probably. Those were things he could do himself, it would just take time. Reza wouldn't be back for hours yet anyway, and when he returned, he'd go straight to his office. 

He gathered all his hair back into two long braids, then looped them up and covered them with a cloth to keep them out of his face, and the dust off. He moved all his furniture, what little there was that was moveable, out onto the balcony, trying to keep it down as he did so. He was glad he was on the second floor, instead of above a bedroom. This way, he wasn't disturbing anyone. 

His bed of course was far too heavy for him to move, but it was a platform, so it touched the mats. His wardrobe sat on a raised platform built into the floor. All he had to do was dust underneath. The mats though, these he cleaned with care so as not to ruin them, brushing the dry rag with the direction of the weaving, until he had a pile of dust by the door. He pushed it all out into the hallway, then swept it up off the hardwood. 

As he went over it all with the damp rag, the work warmed him up enough he could roll the sleeves on his plain cotton shirt back comfortably. He had been a high earner, before Reza, and he had a decent sized room to show for it, so there was a lot to clean. 

By the time he was done, he felt better, his head clearer as he moved the clean furniture back in. The rug and floor cushions though, he wanted them cleaned before he put them back. He hated to leave a job undone. It would nag at him until he bit his nails from it. Chewing on his hair was a habit he'd never been able to break, hard as he tried, but he could control the nail biting for the most part. 

Someone whistled, and he looked to the door to see Meiko, with a basket of clean sheets, his quilt folded on top. “You really are in a mood, aren't you? Last time you cleaned like this was when Zolt took over.” 

“Don't remind me.” Hwan took the basket from her and placed it beside the bed. “When will my clothes be done?”

“Sorry, but you're fourth in line, since you don't necessarily need to earn anymore.” She shrugged apologetically. “Do you have something to wear other than those?” She meant the shirt and pants he'd put on to clean. They were plain, and worn, and definitely not presentable. 

“I'm fine.” He had plenty of clothes, after all. There was something going on downstairs. He could hear talking, loud talking, and he frowned at Meiko in question. “What is that?”

Meiko scowled. “Aiko is here.” 

“Joy.” Hwan rolled his eyes, as he spread the clean sheets over the bed, Meiko helping. “What does she want?”

“She says Reza sent her. Bastard. He knows she causes trouble.” Aiko was a member of Zolt's circle now, so Hwan had to be polite to her, but she was so rude it was infuriating. “She's down there bossing the kitchen around again. Apparently, they don't have her tea.” She rolled her eyes. “Could you please get him to stop sending her?”

Hwan smirked. “You overestimate me.”

“Please, Reza has been falling over himself for you since they kicked Han and his crew to the curb. You just have to ask, and he'll give you whatever you like.” Meiko waggled her eyebrows. “Come on, please?” 

“I'll ask if he's in a good mood.”

“You could put him in a good mood pretty easily.” She wheedled. “Please?”

“You seem to be confused about our relationship.” Hwan snapped, as he pulled the quilt over the edge of the bed. “I'm not here to ask him for things. I'm here to make him happy. If he gets annoyed with me, I could lose him, and my security.” Not to mention gain a few new bruises. Reza claimed he wasn't like that, but Hwan wasn't stupid enough to believe it. Every man had a line. Especially one with Reza's ink. Hwan planned to do his best to not stumble across it.

Meiko shrank back meekly. “Sorry.” 

He closed his eyes. “It's fine. I'm sorry, that was rude.” 

She nodded and smiled, but she was put out now, and she left after she finished helping him with the bed, taking the rug and pillows with her. He rubbed his temple, unhappy with himself and his bad behavior. Meiko was just a servant, and she had to feel a little frightened now that she'd lose her place. Not that he would do that to her. He wasn't petty enough.

Maybe a bath would make him feel better, he thought. He hated being dirty. He changed out of the shirt and pants, and put on a plain cotton robe, one he didn't mind getting wet.

But the bathroom was full, mostly of his fellow entertainers washing away last night's clients. So Hwan gave it up as a bad job for now. He didn't feel like waiting and then rushing. A bath was meant to be enjoyed. 

He went back to his room, and sat down in front of the dressing table. After so many years, it had been a long time since he'd actually studied his own face in detail. He knew what he looked like, after all. But now that he did, there was no denying he was starting to show the strain of his life. He was paler than he should be, and he was starting to get circles under his eyes. This wasn't what Reza was paying for, a worn-out man. 

The thought of being strong enough that it didn't matter anymore was alluring, when he let himself linger over it. He was so tired of being afraid for himself, for the others. He wanted those rights Amon spoke of. He wanted to be treated like a person, not an object. What would it be like to look in the mirror, and not worry over lines forming around his eyes or mouth? To wake up every day, and not judge a good day as one where no one hurt him? 

Brushing his hair out, he let himself really consider it all. What were the risks? 

Well, for one, if anyone in the Triad found out he was helping Amon with this venture, he would be lucky if he was killed right away. In all likelihood, it would be much worse, and he bit his lip at the thought. They would make it hurt, and they would make it last. Pain was terrifying, especially after his ordeal with Jin and his ribs. He'd never been hurt like that before, and he had no desire to relive any of it.

It would be seen as a betrayal of Reza as well. Betraying a lieutenant was a crime he couldn't even fathom the punishment for. 

And what was his other option? Spend the rest of his life worried he would say the wrong thing? That he would make Reza angry and pay for it? How long could he even keep Reza interested? The man was generous to him, and it was a good position to be in, Reza's pet whore, but how long could Reza's affection last? He'd get bored with Hwan eventually, when the shine wore off, and then he'd just give him to someone else. 

He'd seen it happen before. It was considered a great gift, to be given time with a high-up member's whore. If Reza took on a “younger sibling” to train, Hwan could well expect to be offered to them, if it was a man. Especially if they were a virgin. And if whatever was going on between Zolt and Shin kept up, Reza might give him to Zolt as a cheering-up gift, since Zolt liked him. 

He didn't want to spend time with Zolt. 

He didn't want any of them to touch him anymore. What that meant, he had no idea. 

“Well, well, if it isn't my cousin's lovely little _pet_.” His door had opened when he was lost in thought, and now Aiko was striding into his room. Thankfully she wasn't smoking. “So, no trips out today? No lunches to be had with little healers?” 

Hwan refused to show a single emotion, frightened as he was. Aiko exuded danger like a perfume, and more than that, she knew about Amon. “No. Not today.” She _knew_ about his friends. How did she? “How is everyone at the White Lily?” There was another thing to fear, being attacked in his own home. He'd heard just what had happened in more detail than he needed. 

Poor Tomi's face had been slashed.

“They're fine.” Aiko replied, an eyebrow arched. “And how are you?” It was deceptively sweet, sneered like a cat stalking a mouse. 

“I'm fine. Thank you for asking.” Polite, as polite and demure as he could manage. 

“Good.” She sat down on his bed, picking at the blanket folded on the end. “You certainly have a nice room. Well situated. You've obviously been a great earner for this house.” She smiled, showing teeth. “You must be very good at catering to their needs.” Her eyes narrowed. “Very good at...what's the word I'm searching for... _acting_. Yes, that's it.” She got off the bed, and came close. 

“Is there a problem?” He asked, his heart thudding. 

“There might be.” She grabbed his chin, her sharp nails digging into his skin. “Now you listen to me, you little whore. My cousin is not your meal ticket. He's your buyer, and the only relationship I better hear about between the two of you is the one where he fucks you and you smile for him.” Her fingers were heating up, and Hwan whimpered in pain. “I don't want to hear any more rumors of him building you swings, or you telling him some sob story about your dead mommy, and I better not see anymore of your hair pins in his hair.” 

The wooden bird pin in question was sitting right on the dressing table, and his eyes darted to it before he could think twice. Aiko followed the movement, and raised her eyebrows. “Is this it? Is this what you put in there?” She grabbed it with her free hand and held it up. “What client gave you this?” None, actually. It had been a present from his little brother when he had turned twenty. He would never dare say a word right now though. “It was made in Ba Sing Se, huh? A little gift from your sucker there?” 

It was engulfed in flame before his eyes, until it blackened and cracked. She dangled it in front of him mockingly, then dropped it on the floor. The fingers holding him in place were hurting badly now, but he was too scared to move. 

“If you ever even think to ask my cousin for another damn thing, even a replacement for that thing, I will start sending out messages to Ba Sing Se and Omashu. That sister of yours will get a smile from ear,” she dragged her nail from one ear to the corner of her lips, then mirrored the motion on the other side. “To ear.” 

She was talking about Hye, he realized with horror. 

“And then I'll talk to the locals in Ba Sing Se about your daddy and his little problem.” She continued, as she reached around and buried her hand in his hair, a gesture reminiscent of Reza. Only she yanked hard, and he cried out in pain. “Don't fuck with me, you cheap little slut, and don't fuck with my family. Got me?” 

“Yes.” He answered obediently, willing to say anything to make her stop. “I understand you perfectly.” 

“I knew you were _smart_.” She hissed. “You're such a smart whore.” Aiko released his chin, keeping her hold in his hair, and patted him on the cheek. “Such a _clever_ whore.” 

When she finally let him go, he gasped, grabbing at his chin, trying to soothe the hurt away with his own fingers. 

“I have no problem just killing you, you know.” She said, conversationally. Too late, he realized he had a hand down on the floor to balance himself, and before he could withdraw, she placed her foot on it. She was only wearing house shoes, but she was a muscular woman, and her weight was enough to hurt. “And believe me, I'll take the time to break you first.” 

She took her foot away, and left his room, the door still open. He hoped no one had witnessed his humiliation at her hands, especially not Taruk. He was under the impression Hwan could protect him, after all. Seeing Hwan getting threatened by Aiko would just frighten the boy. 

No point in crying over it, he lectured himself. He had to take care of this immediately, before it scarred. 

He went down to the kitchen, and got some ice for his face, wrapped in a washcloth. None of the servants who could waterbend had been trained to heal, but Aiko had gone easy on him. It was no worse than a sunburn. One of the cooks gave him a balm she had mixed up for herself, for when she burned her fingers in the kitchen, and it took away the sting, along with the ice. 

How was this his life, he wondered, inspecting the marks in his mirror. 

Maybe Amon was right. He just didn't know if he was the one who needed to be fighting. Amon was a bender, with a respectable job. He wasn't afraid like Hwan was because he didn't need to be. But these marks, he thought, these were just another tally in a long list of injuries he never would have had to endure in another position. 

What to do about Aiko? She was obviously not going anywhere anytime soon. Maybe he could get Reza interested in someone else, get him to choose another worker in the house. 

He wasn't stupid enough to know the way his chest ached at the very thought was dangerous. He should nip this in the bud now, before it was a problem. Affection was an emotion he couldn't afford. 

It was just so _hard_ with Reza. The scarred man was so tired, so in need of comfort. And his gentleness with Hwan, his obvious enjoyment of Hwan's company, it was all rather nice for him. If he withdrew from Reza now, after giving him what he had, he'd be angry, would feel like Hwan had been playing him. Hwan just didn't know what he could do that wouldn't end with him getting hurt somehow.

His choice to turn his relationship with Reza sexual had been a risky move, and he'd known it at the time, but he hadn't known Aiko was related to Reza then. He never talked to her or about her until Zolt had given her the White Lily. But if he had known, would that have changed his decision? Giving Reza what he wanted had seemed like a smart move, a way to get himself firmly in Reza's good graces. 

He'd had suspicions as to why Reza didn't press his leverage. Reza hadn't wanted to force Hwan, some deeply-ingrained sense of fair play in the man that Hwan wasn't quite sure he understood. All it had taken was an offer, a blatant show of assent, and a kiss, to get him to realize Hwan didn't need his honorable intentions. He needed Reza to protect him from the rest of the trash, and sex was the only way Hwan knew to get that kind of loyalty. Their cautious friendship hadn't been enough.

That was what he told himself, at least. That it had nothing to do with the warm feeling in his stomach when Reza wrapped his arms around him, or how Reza had built a swing for him just because he knew it would make Hwan happy. No one ever cared if Hwan was happy, or at least they hadn't in about eleven years. 

The way he touched Hwan was...

He covered his mouth with his hand, afraid of his own thoughts. He couldn't think like that. He just couldn't. 

Reza could protect him from Aiko. But he couldn't protect Hye, or his father, or Yun, or Sung. What was he going to do? Why did Reza have to blur the boundaries between them like he kept doing?

There was a knock, and then the door slid open to reveal Reza. He looked weary, and when he came closer, Hwan could smell his cigarettes. He'd been smoking a lot then, wherever he was. “You're back early.” He said, as way of greeting.

“Went to catch Lieu up on some business, give out some work, then drop off the house profits at the bank.” He wasn't referring to a real bank, of course. He meant the tea shop that the Triad kept their money in. It was a small, inconspicuous place that even he never would have suspected. The tea was good too. “Brought you that herbal you like so much.” 

Hwan looked away. “Thank you.” That, that exactly was the problem. Reza kept doing considerate things like that, small gestures that Hwan had no idea how to react to. “You didn't have to.” 

“Wasn't like it was out of my way.” Reza was kneeling behind him as he spoke, brushing Hwan's hair off his neck so he could kiss him there. It made a shiver run down his spine to be touched so sweetly, and he couldn't help how he tilted his head to the side to give Reza more room. “Went and saw Zolt. Shin's gone. Zolt doesn't know where.” 

Hwan privately thought that was in Shin's best interest, but perhaps not in his own. “Did you check Mama Cho's?” Shin had supposedly stopped, but Hwan knew better. 

“You know something I don't?” Reza was being very blatant in his attempt to get into Hwan's robe. 

“He's using again. He's smoking those awful cloves to cover the smell up, but he's been in some den. I thought it was one of those things we didn't talk about, is all.” When Reza stilled against him, he did as well, wondering if he'd said something wrong. “Am I mistaken?”

He tugged on the fabric of Hwan's robe, until it revealed a bit more of his shoulder. “Unless I specifically tell you that a subject is closed, it's not.” 

“And if you tell me a subject is closed?”

“Then don't ever bring it up.” Reza's investigation of his shoulder was looking to be rather thorough, not that Hwan minded. “Fair's fair though. If you tell me you don't want to talk about something, I'll stop asking.” It was strange, being treated like an equal, and he wasn't sure he liked it. Whatever this game was that Reza was playing just made things more complicated between them, and complicated was bad. Aiko had been very clear on just where she saw the line, but he didn't want to make Reza unhappy either. If he disagreed with Reza's rules, that could make him unhappy.

This was so much easier when people just told him what they wanted from him. He couldn't figure out just what it was exactly Reza wanted, no matter how hard he tried. 

And he couldn't spend his life worrying over what Reza wanted, not like this. He was so tired of this life, of waiting and hoping for someone else to protect him. He wanted ...well, he didn't know what he wanted. He had never allowed himself to consider another future. 

Reza kissed him on his shoulder again. 

“I saw the twins yesterday.” Hwan said, swallowing heavily. “I didn't know they were back in the city already.” 

“I was going to send them out to Shu Jing. Talk to some business partners of ours.” The island was at the very edge of Fire Nation borders, outside of most patrols by the Navy. If he was sending them there, the 'business partners' were the pirates they ran weapons for. “We've got some new merchandise for them.” That had to mean the deal with Sato, then. “But I'm thinking of sending Lieu instead.” 

“Why?” Hwan wasn't even aware Reza could do that. “Does Lieu need a break?” He had been getting tired of the man and his moping, honestly. Maybe Reza was giving him a vacation, some time away from the city. 

“I don't like his relationship with that healer.” Reza stopped kissing him, settling against Hwan's back. 

Hwan forced himself not to freeze. “That relationship is over.” 

“Then why was the healer in Lieu's bed when I got there? And trust me when I say there wasn't a whole lot of sleeping going on.” Reza sounded unhappy about that, but Hwan knew the feeling. He didn't think it was for the same reason though. “The twins were keeping an eye on him, and they say he had some kind of meltdown after this kid showed up. Lieu had to go play the hero, and Thi says the healer practically threw himself at him. Lieu took him home like a damn stray cat.” 

Hwan turned, so he could see Reza's one golden eye. “More detail would be appreciated. What do you mean by that? Is Amon alright?” And what was he doing in Lieu's bed again, after what they'd spoken of, after the way he'd had the nerve to lecture Hwan? 

“Who are you more loyal to?” Reza asked, his expression unreadable, even with the scarred half pressed against Hwan's shoulder. “Me or him?” 

“Why does that matter?”

“And there's that question answered.” Reza didn't seem upset by it, at the very least. More amused. Hwan hated when Reza was amused with him like this. It felt condescending. “You know,” his voice dropped. “I knew you weren't as self-centered as you act.” 

Hwan bristled. “What do you mean?”

“You act like a spoiled brat, but you're not. Not really. You're loyal to your friends.” His embrace tightened. “I like that. Loyalty. It's not kept like it should be, here.” 

Hwan smirked without humor. “And I'm the last place you expected to find it, right?” Their reflection made for an interesting portrait, he thought. His anxiety had turned his fine features fragile in this bright light, while Reza looked every inch the man he was. He could so easily crush Hwan, or so it looked. He needed to stop trusting that he wouldn't. “A whore with honor.” 

In the mirror, he could see Reza frown, as the hand touching Hwan's waist caressed him. It was the good hand. Reza seemed to prefer to touch Hwan with it, but maybe that was because it was his dominant hand by default. “And I'm Triad with honor. Or I like to think.” He smirked. “Which one of us is the bigger contradiction?” He was laughing into Hwan's shoulder now, like it was really funny. 

“Reza,” Hwan didn't agree. “You're not a bad man.” 

He chuckled some more, then kissed the soft skin behind his ear. “Hwan,” he said it right into his ear, and in the mirror, all he could see was Reza's scarred side. “You have no idea what kind of man I am.” The words were hard, but the hand on his bare skin was as gentle as ever, and Hwan pressed his own over it, the fabric of his robe thin enough he could feel his. 

“Don't be so quick.” Hwan replied, looking away from himself and his own judgmental gaze in the mirror. “Trust me, I have an idea.” 

Reza smiled. He wasn't really surprised that he could see a smile in his destroyed features now without trying. “I know better than to trust a fox.” 

Now Hwan scowled at him. “Oh yes, you're very funny. I should never have told you that.” The joke was enough to break the tension, and Hwan turned away from him, pouting. “And when were you born?”

“Summer. Like every other firebender.” He replied. “Are waterbenders born during the winter? I always wondered.” 

Hwan shrugged. “Amon was. But he says birthdays don't mean the same thing in the Water Tribes. Some are significant, apparently, but I don't know which.” 

Reza frowned, and rested his head on Hwan's shoulder. “What do you think of him?” The tone didn't sound like a concerned friend. It sounded like someone assessing a threat. 

“Amon is my friend. We just talked about this.” Hwan stalled, trying to think of what he should do.

“I just want to know if he's going to fuck Lieu over. He needs to be on his game. We've got too many deals going on right now for him to be acting like a fucking idiot over some self-righteous brat.” He said, his good eye narrowed. “Is he something I need to worry about?” 

Hwan bit his lip. “Amon loves him.” That was true, much as Hwan hated it. Amon was too young, too good, to be involved in any of this. He deserved a better man to hold his heart. “He's not playing any game with Lieu. But that's all I'm going to tell you.” 

There were men who have slapped him across the face for a comment like that. 

Reza pressed one last kiss to Hwan's shoulder before he pulled back, shrugging. “I need a bath.”

And there was nothing else. He was just accepting what Hwan said, honoring the boundary like he'd said he would.

 _Please stop giving me reason to trust you,_ he thought, remembering Aiko's words. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Hwan offered, unsure of if this crossed the line with Reza. The scars were a sticking point with him, like he thought they disgusted Hwan. Honestly though, after he had gotten used to them, they had stopped bothering him. Granted, Reza was still a bit disquieting, but he probably would have been without the scarring. 

“Really?” Reza seemed interested. “You wouldn't mind?” 

He shook his head. “No. I need one too.” The bathroom was sure to clear out if Reza came in. He made everyone a little nervous. “I cleaned the room today.” 

“ _You_ cleaned it?” Reza asked. “Why not just get one of the servants? That's what they're there for.” 

Hwan shrugged, idly playing with his hair. “I needed to.” When Reza just raised his eyebrow, Hwan continued. “When I'm anxious, I clean my space. Once that's in order, I feel like my mind is more in order.” Even as a child, he'd been neat, Hye had told him. But then she was the same way. 

“I just smoke.” 

He smiled indulgently. “Yes, we can all tell.” He teased sweetly, as Reza scowled. 

“What do you want me to do, quit?” When Hwan smiled, Reza shook his head. “Not a chance.” He stood up, and offered Hwan a hand, his good one. “Come on, if you're coming.”

For just a second, he wanted to play coy, be the flirt he was and push into Reza's space after the other man had pulled him to his feet. Reza liked it, even when he was frowning. But he thought better of it quickly, deciding that casual flirting was too much like intimacy. There had been far too much of that just now, in front of his mirror, and maybe he had liked it a little too much. 

He didn't want to give anyone any reason to think he and Reza were anything more than convenience. He couldn't let anyone think anything of the sort, not if he wanted to keep his family safe. 

However, he couldn't deny that what he was doing now, going down to the bath with Reza, was just as bad, because though it could be thought of that way, it was an act that spoke of a certain level of closeness between them that wasn't necessarily sexual. It was too late to take it back now though, in any case, and besides that, he didn't even want to enough to try to come up with a good excuse. 

Reza was cheating, looking at him the way he did. No one had ever looked at him like that, and he wanted to see how it would feel now, when the exposure wasn't just a quick prelude before the sex. What would it be like when Reza could just sit and look at his form? Would he still admire it like he always seemed to? Or was he bored now?

In the bathroom, he felt Reza's eye on him as he stripped out of the robe he'd worn down. The room had emptied of the few occupants as soon as Reza had come in, leaving them completely alone, and free to be as long as they wanted. 

Just in case though, Hwan had locked the door as soon as possible. Someone had told Aiko enough that he knew she had to have a little spy in the house somewhere. A bath without sex was sure to sound rather damning.

With the door shut, he relaxed a bit more, deciding to let himself be a bit more tempting to the other man. He wanted to know, needed to, really, if Reza still had that burn of want in his face when he looked at Hwan. It was just good business, he told himself, to know if the client was still interested. The way it had felt that first time in bed together, the way Reza had touched every revealed bit of skin like Hwan had never been touched before, like Hwan was to be taken care with, like he was desired. Not the body, not the sex, _him_.

When he slid his robe off his shoulders, he let it rest on his elbows instead of letting it fall all the way, the collar pressed to the small of his back. With his hair over his shoulder, Reza had a clear view of his back as he stood there. 

_Reza's hand on his back, sliding up his spine, fingers spread, the touch like fire as Hwan dragged him into a kiss. He'd never kissed a man during sex before, but then, no man had ever been Reza._

It didn't take long for him to feel Reza's knuckles trailing down his spine, and that warm feeling in his stomach spread like wildfire. There was a kiss pressed to a shoulder blade too, his breath hovering over Hwan's skin. Hwan turned his head so he could have a real kiss, and Reza was only too eager to comply. 

“You're beautiful.” Reza told him, and when he said it, it sounded like he meant it. “Can't believe I get to have you.”

“Yes.” Hwan agreed, initiating the next kiss. He still felt a little clumsy at it, but the scarred man didn't seem to mind. “Just yours.” It was a slip, and he berated himself for it internally, even as he kissed Reza again, enjoyed the heat of the man's body, the way he was already half-interested against Hwan's back. 

“Let's get cleaned up first.” Reza said, pulling away and finding a bench. “I should have known bringing you down would be a bad idea.” 

Hwan smiled. “And here I thought you brought me down here so you could live out a bathhouse fantasy.” 

“I came down here so I wouldn't have to listen to you whine about the cigarette smell.” Reza replied smartly, and Hwan made a face at him. The man made one back, his entirely more intimidating, before he turned the knob of the shower, soaking himself. “You just going to stand there?”

“I am remarkably good at standing.” Hwan teased, but went into his bath things to get his soap. His was bought from the soapmaker on 6th, a good, expensive soap that smelled like jasmine and rose, like a garden at night. He loved it, even with the price. “Where are your things?”

“I just use what's down here.” 

Hwan frowned. “No wonder your hair is such a mess.” The products in the bath were not of good quality. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“Thought we talked about this?” Reza turned the spray off, only to be sat back down by Hwan. “What?”

“That's not a proper wash,” Hwan rolled his eyes. “Not even close.” 

Reza turned his good eye up to Hwan. “Then take care of me.” 

So he did.

Hwan washed Reza's legs, at ease there, since there was no damage. The tattoos stopped just above his ankle, the color in need of retouching. These were probably some of the oldest on his body, Hwan thought. Typically, shoulders and arms were done, then the legs. That wasn't always true though, and since Reza had an incomplete vest, Hwan couldn't be sure. 

Reza's stomach was just pale skin, no tattoos on the left side of his chest at all, except where the shoulder dipped down over his collarbone. Strange, that he had finished the right, but not the left. That seemed wrong to him. The tattoos on his right side were of course mostly ruined, though the ones further down were mostly untouched. There were a few shiny scars scattered across the designs like freckles, but he could see the vest had been spirits and demons warring. “Why didn't you get the left side done?” Hwan asked, pressing his hand over Reza's blank pectoral. 

“I hadn't picked a spirit. Still haven't.” He closed his good hand over Hwan's, and moved it down a little, so Hwan could feel his heartbeat. “The ink you wear here is the most important ink you'll ever get. That's what my father taught me. He wore Wei Shi, the spirit of our city.”

“And what does Wei Shi do?” Hwan asked. He had never heard of the spirit, but then he was Earth Kingdom. 

“He's the spirit who ferries the dead. Takes them to rest.” Reza closed his eye. “He's powerful. Just. But he wasn't who I wanted to wear.”

“Who do you want to wear?” Hwan could almost understand the idea of it, of having a spirit to watch over you. 

“Didn't know then, don't know now.” When Hwan moved to his back, Reza slumped forward onto his knees. “Who would you wear?” 

“Min Ling, of course.” Hwan said, concentrating on Reza's hair. “I used to have a charm. My mother and father had it made for me. I wore it in my hair, or somewhere in my clothes.” It had been green silk thread, woven and knotted into an intricate design, with the charm dangling. It had been jade, good jade, far too expensive to have given to a child. “It was a fox, holding a peach.” 

“What happened to it?” Now Hwan's hands stalled in his hair, despite himself. He shook it off though, and kept working the conditioner through Reza's hair. It slipped through his fingers far easier than his own. 

“When I was still in Omashu, a client saw it in my hair. He wanted it, and he took it. He grabbed my braid, pulled it right out, along with a good bit of my hair.” It had hurt quite badly, actually. “I never saw it again.” It had been a stupid mistake, wearing it in front of clients. He had only himself to blame for the loss of the precious item. “Those things happen though. I once had a client who stole the ribbons I used. Very odd, that one.” 

Reza didn't say anything, seemingly lost in thought as Hwan finished his hair and began on his back. It was hard on him to reach some of it, Hwan thought. He liked having the time to inspect Reza's tattoos anyway. Despite their meaning, they really were lovely. Whoever had done them did beautiful work. 

“Why the maple leaves?” He asked, running his hands over them. They were gorgeous. For all that Reza had had a plain face before whatever had happened to him, his body was truly a work of art now, even with the scars. If anything, they just made the tattoos more interesting, the flaws of his skin highlighting the perfection of the ink. 

“There was a maple tree in our courtyard.” Reza replied, his shoulders rolling under Hwan's hands. “Zolt and me built a tree house in it when we were kids. I loved that tree.” He laughed, as Hwan gathered his silky black hair up, binding it and wrapping it around itself so it was out of the way. “My first kiss was under that tree.” 

“With Zolt?” Hwan teased, despite the cautious voice in his head that told him this was the kind of thing that could get him in trouble. He wanted to know though, and he thought Reza wanted him to ask. 

“No. It was with this boy who was supposed to be tutoring me in bending. Zolt tried, but he couldn't teach a komodo chicken to lay eggs.” Hwan laughed at that. “No, it was never that way between us. He did try once, when we were like, fifteen, I think.”

“He did?” Hwan asked, aghast. “Really?”

“Yeah. He was really drunk, in his defense.” 

“What did you do?” He followed the maple leaves, their stark black outlines carrying just a brush of red around the edges, as they formed patterns to frame the huge dragon on his back against its clouds. 

“Punched him.” Reza answered, and Hwan laughed again. “No idea what he was thinking.”

“Childhood friends becoming lovers is the basis of many a fairy tale.” Hwan reminded him. 

Reza snorted. “Not ours.” 

“Well, many fairy tales also end with someone dying, so maybe it's for the best.” He stepped back from Reza. “You're all clean.”

After the man had gotten into the tub, Hwan washed himself, well aware of the way Reza watched. Once he had finished, he climbed in with him, letting Reza pull him into his lap. “When was your first kiss?” He asked, running both hands over Hwan's thighs.

Hwan pursed his lips. “I don't think you'd like that story.” Sometimes, he thought Reza forgot just how young he had been when he had been brought into this world. His first kiss, his first time, neither of them had been his choice, and neither of them were great memories. 

“You never had a relationship with anyone that wasn't business?” He was frowning at Hwan.

“No. Never.” It was from both lack of opportunity and lack of inclination. He had liked some of his clients just fine, but he had never loved any of them, or felt the desire to. It just seemed pointless. “I think you're actually the first person I've kissed on the mouth since I was around fifteen or sixteen.” He had stopped around then, when he could make those kinds of demands. He just hadn't liked it very much, the way they grabbed him, forced a pretense at love where there was none.

Reza was watching him intently, but he wasn't looking at Hwan's face. Too late, he realized that from this angle, with the reflection of the water, Reza could for sure see marks from where Aiko had grabbed him, and before he could tilt his chin down again, Reza was pushing it further up. “Who did this?” That was not a good tone of voice. 

“Reza, please,” Hwan cursed himself for his stupidity. He had been making too many mistakes lately. It was all Amon's fault, confusing him so much and making him think about things he didn't want to think about. “It was an accident.” He didn't even have a lie planned. How could he be so careless?

“You accidentally walked into someone's fingers?” He asked sarcastically. “Who in this house is stupid enough to put their hands on you?” He leaned closer, peering at the marks with his good eye. “Someone with nails.” He swore under his breath. “Aiko did this, didn't she?” 

“I didn't want to tell you.” Hwan tried to buy time to think of something. “I was rude to her.” It was the most believable thing he could come up with off the top of his head. “I don't think she meant to burn me.” 

“Don't lie for her.” Reza warned, and Hwan stiffened. He didn't like that tone at all, or what it boded for him. “Don't sit here and lie to my face.” 

He had blundered badly. How to fix it? “I'm sorry.” He tried for demure, turning his face away and casting his eyes down submissively. “It was my fault, so please, don't.” 

“Stop it.” Reza's had an odd sound to his voice now, still angry, but somehow pleading. “Stop being afraid of me. That's not what I want.” 

Hwan was confused. What exactly was Reza expecting? That Hwan would just blithely tell on Reza's flesh and blood? He was a whore, and Aiko had every right to burn him if she wanted to. “Then what do you want?” He sounded annoyed, even he could hear that, and he was painstakingly aware of the fact that he was in an extremely physically vulnerable position right now. Reza wasn't the type to lose control of his bending, but he was still thankful for the water.

Reza turned him by his chin so that Hwan had to look at him. “Are you only having sex with me because that's what I want?” He seemed fearful, and Hwan realized what he had implied to someone as paranoid as Reza. 

“Reza.” He tried to deflect, not wanting to get into this.

The other man wasn't having it. “Are you?” 

Hwan shook his head. “No.” There were times to lie, and times to be honest. Right now, Reza needed to hear the truth, and that was that Hwan wanted to have Reza in his bed, and it terrified him, because he liked Reza so much more than he should. “I do like you. That's not an act.”

“So then tell me the truth. Why did she burn you?” What one thing had to do with the other, Hwan wasn't sure, but he did know he was backed into a corner right now. He couldn't lie to him and get away with it. Reza was too good at spotting it, too used to people lying to him. 

“She doesn't like our relationship. She thinks I'm trying to force an attachment. She's just trying to protect you.” By being a psychotic bitch, but Hwan would never say that. 

“No one touches you but me.” Reza said, the hand on his chin loosening, trailing down his neck gently. “They have no right, you're mine.”

Hwan felt something inside snap closed at the words. He knew that, he did, but hearing Reza say it so possessively was like a slap, one he had desperately needed. No matter how much he liked Reza, how kind Reza was to him, how much he seemed to desire Hwan, he wasn't a person to him. He was a thing. Why did he keep forgetting that?

“Just let it go.” Hwan said, his fear melting away. Possessiveness was something he could handle, could soothe away with just a little work. “I know you mean well, but it will just prove her right if you choose a whore's comfort over her.” He tried to smile, but only managed a small one. He was still a little shaken over the brief flare-up of temper, but he could get himself together quickly. “She was just warning me. And I'm fine. There's no reason for you to be upset.” 

“Hwan,” Reza started, then winced, rolling his shoulders again. “Damn it.” He was quite clearly in pain now, and Hwan sighed at it, running his hand over the scarred side of Reza's face. Smooth like candle wax, he thought, dried on a table. But still not quite the right description. He'd find it eventually, he supposed. 

“You were out too long in the cold, and now they're hurting, aren't they?” Hwan lectured softly, trying to get Reza back in a good mood. “Come upstairs, and I'll fix it.” That would certainly fix his mood. 

For a second, he thought Reza was going to disagree and keep pushing, but then he nodded, and Hwan got out of the bath, drying himself quickly. His hair he patted dry as best he could, and by the time he was done, Reza was already dressed again, this time in the clean pants he'd brought down. He slid a shirt on over, but didn't tie it, leaving his chest exposed. They really were bothering him then, if he didn't want to push the fabric over them. Reza was so strange about being bare-chested. If he was half-asleep, or alone with Hwan, he didn't seem to care one way or the other, but when he was conscious of it, he didn't seem to like it. Hwan thought that maybe before the scarring, Reza had been the kind of gangster who liked to show his tattoos, like Zolt was. 

He'd never know, he supposed, as he followed him out. 

Once they were in the room, and he had Reza on his stomach, the man seemed contemplative, his head turned so that his scarred side rested on the pillow and his good side faced Hwan. “They don't actually hurt, you know.” 

“Then why are you in pain?” Hwan asked, curious, as he worked the lotion into Reza's bad shoulder. 

“Skin that didn't get hurt doesn't, I don't know, move the same, or something. It's the part that hurts. The scars only bother me around shit like sunlight. Burn scars are sensitive, the healer said.” He shrugged under Hwan. “I don't know. Maybe it's all in my head.”

“I don't think so.” Hwan contradicted. “You carry a lot of tension in your back. It's probably making the muscles tighten, and the scarring isn't contracting the same way.” He rose up on his knees. “Turn over, let me do your chest.” Reza obeyed, turning on to his back so that Hwan had a clear view of his front. He settled back down across Reza's hips, and started on the scarred section. The lines of the burn were so unusual, he noticed, not for the first time. They didn't behave like how he thought fire would. 

Was he allowed to ask, especially after their argument in the bath? He supposed Reza would just tell him it was a closed subject, if it really bothered him. And maybe it would soothe whatever pride had been wounded by Hwan's apparent lack of loyalty by lying if he showed interest in Reza.

He was only a tiny bit intensely curious anyway.

“Reza.” He bit his lip, keeping his eyes on the man's chest. “What happened?” 

The silence made _him_ tense, and he worried that this was in fact one of those closed subjects, but before he could get too anxious, Reza spoke. 

“It was an accident.” He hadn't looked away from Hwan, like he thought the man might, but his eye was distant. “Five years ago. Zolt got into it with this guy, some Red Monsoon officer. He bended at Zolt, and see, Zolt liked to do this trick then. He'd make the fire so hot, it evaporated the water.” Reza swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Only it wasn't water. It was glowfly oil.”

Hwan's eyes widened in horror as his mind quickly filled in the rest of the story. “Oh, Reza, no,”

“He lit it up, realized too late what it was, avoided it. It hit me instead. I managed to deflect a lot of it, but my right arm took the brunt of it. Hurt like you wouldn't believe. Nearly killed me, actually. I inhaled a lot of it.” The fact Reza's mouth and throat were still intact said a lot about the healer who had treated him, and their skill. “It looks a lot worse than it is internally. The oil wasn't pure. Cheap, diluted shit, lucky me. Didn't sink down into the skin. The healer managed to fix the chi lines, after a few months, but it took me about a year to be able to bend with my right arm again, two to bend lightning.” He sighed, and closed his eye. “Four to breathe fire again. And that wasn't from injury. I was just too scared.” 

The line Hwan had been scared to cross was now in front of him, as he realized Reza had never said any of this to anyone before. He couldn't imagine him ever admitting he was scared of anything to any other person. He was too self-contained, too seemingly assured of himself. 

But he had been, and he had told Hwan. 

So now there was nothing else to do but lean over and cup Reza's face in his hands, kiss him until he kissed Hwan back, his hands on Hwan's thighs, thumbs working into the skin. He could have easily turned it into sex, he knew, could have saved himself so easily by turning this into just bodies seeking each other out. But he didn't, he didn't even try, and he hated himself for it. 

He just wanted Reza to feel better, and he loved to kiss Hwan, didn't he? So Hwan kissed him on the mouth, until Reza came back to him, then moved over the scarred side, kissing his cheek, his jawline, the corner of his eye, where the patch covered, and his temple. Back to his lips, and now Reza kissed him like he...

Hwan closed his eyes with purpose, and forced himself to stop that line of thought. He couldn't do this to himself, he just couldn't, not with anyone, and especially not with Reza. He was dangerous. 

Reza rolled them, and Hwan let him. There was no dominance in the movement, indeed, Hwan still felt like he was the one in control of the situation. It was confirmed when instead of pinning him, Reza settled down into his arms, like he wanted to be held. Hwan didn't even have to ask, to know he should settle against the pillows, and press Reza's scarred side to his chest, hiding away the old wounds. 

He kept his breath steady, despite how badly it wanted to catch in his throat. 

“Do you want to play a game?” He hazarded, trying to find a way to help Reza forget, a way to help himself get off the road he was going down. “It's a fun game.”

The other man made a sound that could have been assent.

“The game is,” Hwan clacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “You ask me a question, and I answer it truthfully. Then I get to ask you a question, and you have to answer it. And whoever doesn't answer a question has to answer a penalty question instead.” 

“How do you win?”

Hwan considered the question, as he stroked Reza's hair. “It's not really that kind of game. It's more a challenge.” When Reza made a suspicious noise, Hwan rolled his eyes. “It's just a game. You don't have to play.” He was manipulating Reza's pride, and hopefully, he was pulling the strings right.

When the man stayed silent, he assumed he didn't want to, but then, still with no small amount of suspicion still in his voice, he asked, “Why don't you visit your sister?” He really didn't pull punches, did he? He wondered what Reza was like in a fight.

All brute force and not one ounce of finesse, he bet. He was probably a sight to see.

“Because Hye is in Omashu, and there was a reason I left Omashu. His name was Li, he was a very wealthy man, and he wanted to buy me and make me one of his concubines.” Reza's hair slipped through his fingers like water, as he thought carefully. “He wasn't awful, but it wasn't what I wanted, and he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. So here I am.” 

“Then what do you want?” Reza asked. 

“My turn.” Hwan said, with a shake of his head. “Why don't you want to be Fire Nation anymore?” All those carefully changed behaviors, but still the hair, long and traditional.

“Because Zolt and me can't go back.” Reza didn't seem worried over the question, more tired than anything else. Before Hwan could ask anymore, Reza said, calmly, “Closed.” 

“Fine.” He said, resigned to that. 

“Why don't you ever sing? When clients ask for it, you never volunteer. But your papers say you can sing.” Reza was only curious, and it was a fair question, Hwan thought. There was no reason he couldn't tell Reza this, especially after what Reza had told him. 

“Because that was something Hye and I did.” He felt his heart twist at the thought of her, of how he could be putting her in danger by doing this. Were Aiko's threats empty? How powerful was she, really? “We would sing together, when we were children. I played the drum too.” 

“You? Really?” Reza seemed shocked, and Hwan frowned at him. 

“Yes, me. I was very good, I'll have you know.” He had been, before it all. The drum wasn't the kind of instrument a whore needed to bother with though. “But it was something we did. I didn't want to share it.” Didn't want to give away that part of himself, like his hair, his smile, his kiss. Those were his to have, but now... “Why?” Now there was this man, who he had already given all those things. “Do you want me to sing to you?” He teased.

Reza made a noise that suggested he couldn't care less one way or the other what Hwan did, but that was a good enough answer for him. 

It didn't mean he had to do it though. Reza wouldn't ask. He wouldn't demand what Hwan wouldn't give freely. 

Why did he even bother trying to pretend to argue this with himself?

He began, “ _Watch the maple leaves fall,_ ” while smiling down at Reza, teasing his fingers up the man's back, over the pattern. That line he wasn't supposed to have crossed had disappeared before him, because he had left it far behind with this consent. “ _Spinning through the air, like dancers on a stage,_ ” 

In his arms, Reza was a warm weight, and Hwan held him without complaint as he sang a song he hadn't dared let himself speak aloud in years. The last time he had sung it had been the last time they'd been free, the last night on the swing in their childhood home. The moon had been high in the sky, the night still long, still cold. Their father had long ago fallen asleep after his tears and his pleas for forgiveness from both of them, and the shrine in the corner that held their mother's portrait. 

_“Screw those bastards,” she'd said. “They think we're their toys. Did you see them going over our stuff, talking about our pedigree? What are we, dogs?”_

_“Maybe.” Hwan had shrugged, the horror in his stomach having settled down to just a kind of hollow panic. “I don't want to sing for them. That's not theirs.”_

_“Then we won't.” She had determined, clutching his hand tight in hers. “We won't ever sing for any of them, not if we can help it.”_

_“I promise I won't.”_

“I like your voice.” Reza said, his voice low. “Keep going.”

 _Oh Hye, I'm so sorry._ He thought. _I'm such a liar._ His mind flashed to Amon's face, his obvious heartbreak, and Hwan's ensuing lecture. The way he'd been angry at how he'd apparently gone right back to Lieu. _And a hypocrite._


	18. The lovers that went wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amon finally realizes who Lieu is, underneath it all.
> 
> Turns out, he and Reza aren't that different after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Um. Hey. 
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains violence, death, and violence in a relationship. It's graphic and cruel, and probably enough to turn some stomachs.

Amon was half-asleep on the couch, underneath of a throw blanket that Lieu had tucked around him when Thi and Tho returned with food. He woke more fully when he realized there were voices, and more importantly, smelled the food. He was starving. 

Someone was leaning over him. He opened his eyes, to see one of the twins, her elbows on the back of the couch. The pale green of her eyes made him think of the big green hydrangeas that were grown in the greenhouse at the clinic. He never went in there, of course. Too hot for him.

“You have grey eyes.” She announced, like it was something he didn't know. “Like a storm brewing. I've never seen that color before.” She tipped her head to the side, so that it rested on her folded arms. “Are you a storm on the horizon, healer?” 

Unsettled, he rolled to his back and went up on his elbows. “What?”

“Tho, quit messing with him.” The other twin, Thi he supposed, said. “Don't worry about her, healer. She likes being weird to new people.” Thi was the one Lieu said he had struck, he remembered, or at least tried to. Spirits, he had lost his mind, hadn't he? A healer, attacking someone. 

“I'm sorry.” He said to her, bowing his head. “About before.” Losing control like that was not something he could let slide, especially not now, when he was in Lieu's apartment, one of the last places on the planet he should be. “That was uncalled for.” 

“To be fair, we've been following you around the city.” Thi pointed out with a shrug. “Could be construed as creepy, and kind of threatening.” Tho was still hovering over him, and without warning, she ran her fingers right through his wolf tail. “Tho!”

“What is wrong with you?” Amon demanded, moving further back from her in shock. “Why would you touch a stranger's hair?”

Tho raised her eyebrows. “You let Lieu touch your hair.”

“That's different!” He got off the couch, trying to put distance between the two of them, and joined the other twin at the table, where she'd laid the food out. “Where is he?” He had sworn he had just heard him speaking to them, but he'd been half in a dream still, and couldn't trust that it was as recent as he thought. 

“Stepped out for a cigarette. He says you don't like the smell, and he wanted to stretch his legs anyway.” Thi said, handing him chopsticks. They were the cheap wooden break-apart kind that the restaurant must have provided, which told him more about Lieu's dishes situation than the empty cabinets. “He'll be back soon. He's paranoid you'll leave if he's not here to watch you the whole time.” 

Thi smirked as she sat down beside her sister. “I've got twenty yuan that says you leave when he's sleeping.” Beside each other, he couldn't find a single difference in their features, not even a scar or a blemish to give them individuality. He supposed it was why they wore their hair so differently. Even the way they ate, both left-handed, was identical.

Their personalities might not be though, he saw now, from the way Tho narrowed her eyes at her sister. “Damn it, Thi, for the love of Yue, shut up.” She respectfully bended tea for Amon first, than for her sister, and finally herself. She flashed a bright smile at Amon, holding out a dish he had no hope of identifying. There were bean sprouts, and meat, and some other things, all mixed together. “Try this. It's pad thai, very good. Not the cheap street stuff either, though you know, nothing beats vendor food when you're stumbling home wasted, huh?”

Amon took some, to be polite, but found he couldn't answer right away. He wasn't sure what she meant by 'wasted', but he wasn't sure he wanted to show his ignorance to her. There was something in her manner that almost made him think of Penna, but he wasn't so taken in as to trust it. Penna would never work for a man like Reza, and no one as open and happy as Penna could work for a man like that. No, what she was showing him wasn't the truth. She was not his friend, nor would she ever be. 

If only he had managed this kind of perception when he had first met Lieu. 

“Do you like it?” She asked brightly, after Amon had eaten a few bites. 

He nodded. “Yes, it's very good. Thank you.” 

“Tundra brat likes Fire Nation food. Now I've seen everything.” Thi drawled, helping herself to an almost impolite amount of beef from a different dish, and a small mountain of rice. She mixed it all together, and then dumped a definitely impolite amount of vegetables on it as well. Tho seemed to notice this as well, frowning at her sister and elbowing her discreetly. There was a silent conversation there for a moment, the kind siblings excel at, that he had once excelled at. 

Lieu returned at last, the comforting sounds of him shrugging off his coat and removing his shoes carrying over easily in the mostly empty place. Amon hated himself just a little more when his heart warmed at the sight of him, tall and lanky and smiling still, as he had been before that night in front of the clinic, and spirits, Amon loved him so much. Even now. 

Even now when he almost hated him too. 

“Hey, awake at last.” Lieu strode over, confident to the point of arrogant as always, and kissed him on the top of his head before flopping down beside him and helping himself to some of Amon's lunch. 

Annoyed, he reacted on an instinct long honed from having a little brother and eating with Penna and Pasook, and shoved at his hand. “No,” he said, shouldering his way between Lieu and his food. “Get your own, Lieu.” 

“Hey, don't be stingy. It's not rationed like it is in your clinic,” Lieu groused, even as he got his own plate. “Brat.” 

“Degenerate.” He hissed back, still watching him warily. “You're so rude. Your poor mother.” 

Lieu scoffed, and tugged on a side tail while pressing an obnoxious kiss to his cheek. “My mother adores me. And she has Hana to brag about if she feels the need.” He reminded him, and really, it was so easy to just fall back into this pattern with him. Too easy.

The lunch was interrupted though, by a runner knocking on the door, a harried looking boy with bright golden eyes and dusky skin. The twins rose as one before Lieu could say anything, leaving their plates behind as they joined Lieu and the runner. “Reza wants you both now,” he pants. “Like, right now. The house was hit.”

Amon's stomach dropped into his knees as he stood without quite being conscious of the action. The words slammed through his head like a drum, beating a pattern over and over, _the house was hit_ , _your friend, Hwan, no_.

“Shit,” Lieu swore, as the twins pulled their shoes on. “What about Reza?” 

“He's alright. He got hit bad, but he's up and moving.” The runner replied. “They killed two of the whores though.” 

Amon had his boots on before he quite knew what he was doing, only coming back to himself when he tugged his parka on over his head, Lieu grabbing him by the elbows as he tried to find his gloves. “You need to stay here,” he insisted, but Amon pulled away, shaking his head. No, he was wrong. So wrong. He didn't need to stay here, not here, away from Hwan, from the others, where they could be hurt, could be dead. 

“I have to go,” Amon said, grabbing the hat Hwan had bought him just yesterday and covering his ears with it. “I have to, now. I have to go to him.” 

And maybe this said the most about how much Lieu knew him: he let him go to put his own boots on, let Amon rush out the door behind the twins, following quickly as they held the lift for him. He pulled his own coat on inside it, and when they hit the street, he was the one who thought to hail a taxi for them. 

Amon didn't remember the trip, in retrospect. What he remembered was stepping out of the taxi, at the door to the tea house, and rushing inside, to see Hwan standing there in the foyer. His hair was a mess, his eyes red-rimmed, and he had a bruise across his cheek that made Amon want to kill, but he stood there, alive and well. 

He embraced him without thinking, and for second, Hwan was still, before he hugged him back. “I'm alright,” he said, rubbing Amon's back. “Amon, I'm alright.” 

But his throat sounded raw, and when Amon stepped away, he saw the pain in his face. “Not Taruk?” He asked, hoping more than anything else that the boy was still alive at least. 

“No.” Hwan shook his head. “No, they hurt hm, but he's alive. But Baraz is,” he stopped, licked his lips. “They killed him.” He swallowed again, as Amon remembered the lovely Fire Nation man with his golden eyes and bored tone. “And a young girl, one of the laundry maids. Meiko.” He sounded so distraught, as he said, “I snapped at her. I was irritated with her. And they killed her.” 

“Hwan,” Amon didn't know what to say. 

“And Li. He was thirteen. He was new. We just got him.” He gasped the words like they hurt. “We just got him. He was a baby. Meiko was just a child. And they killed them. For being _mixed_. Amon, they killed them.” His fingers were digging into Amon's elbows, and they hurt, but not as much as the raw, open look on Hwan's face that made him look terribly young as well. “She screamed, Amon. She screamed.” 

His fingers really hurt, in Amon's arms.

“I couldn't help her.” He said, shaking his head. “She was just a baby. And I couldn't help her. And they, Baraz, Amon, they, I could _hear_ him, they held Bao down, made him listen, they were going to get me, and then Reza,” he paused, his voice failing him. “Reza came.” 

And that terrified Amon too. 

He heard a scream, from the direction of the courtyard, and pulled out of Hwan's grip to see. Only it was Hwan rushing ahead of him, leading him there, the other workers around them, as they gathered on the porch, to see just who was doing it.

There were four of them, all hung by their bound wrists, in the biggest tree in the courtyard. All Water Tribe, two men, and two women. Rough sorts. The one screaming was a man, young, his exposed skin red with burns. 

Reza stood in front of him. 

“Let's try again,” he said, and beside Amon, Hwan curled into him, his face fearful. “What made you think you had the right to come into my house, kill my whores?” There was a burst of fire, and the man screamed in agony, as Amon watched, no matter how badly he wanted to turn away.

Beside him, Hwan stared. 

The man screamed. 

Until he stopped. 

Reza rolled his shoulder, face grim, until it popped, as the bile rose in Amon's throat. 

Lieu was joining him too, he realized, stepping off the porch, into the courtyard. In his hands were long sticks, attached to some kind of pack on his back. Confused, Amon watched with dread in his stomach, as they two of them went to the next waterbender, a woman, also young. So young. 

“How about you, you feel like talking?” Lieu asked jovially, twirling one of the sticks with ease. They were like the ones he had seen mounted on the wall in Lieu's old apartment, all that time ago. Before this. Before he knew this side of him existed.

And really, this side didn't seem all that different from his usual self. He still smiled, the same way he smiled when Amon made him laugh. It was just the same. He was just the same. 

It was with ease that Lieu took the stick, as it crackled with electricity, and pressed it to the woman's legs.

She screamed.

Amon's stomach heaved.

“I need a room.” He said to Hwan, tearing his eyes away, forcing himself to focus on something other than what was going on in the courtyard, and he knew, he did, that they probably deserved it and worse. Knew Baraz was dead, knew a thirteen-year-old boy was dead, and a young girl. Knew Taruk had been beaten and raped. Knew Hwan had been beaten. That they had done it.

But the woman screamed, long and loud and wet, and he clamped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming too, biting his hand hard, until he had himself under control. 

“With water.” He said, speaking somehow with a resolve he hadn't been sure he had. “Bring all the injured to me. The worst off come first.”

“The dining room,” Hwan said, leading him by the elbow, his own face pale, but determined. “The one for us. It has a tap. It'll do?” Amon nodded, and let himself be led, the smile on Lieu's face burned into his mind like a brand, there every time he closed his eyes for more than a second.

The dining room was a large one, meant to accommodate all the servants and workers, and after the table was moved aside, there was plenty of room for Amon to work. Hwan organized the line beautifully, so he healed first the ones with broken bones and bloody bandages and shame in their faces, then the bruised and haunted ones, who said nothing at all, nor did they need to. 

“Taruk is upstairs,” Hwan said. “He didn't fight them. He just let them,” he swallowed, “he just let them.” And that was all he needed to say on that. “He says you can rest for a moment before you come up. I think he's embarrassed anyone is making a fuss at all over him. Not with...well.” 

And that was all he needed to say on that too.

Amon, exhausted, nodded, and let Hwan bring him tea. 

“Let me heal your face,” he said, and Hwan knelt elegantly beside him, lovely and demure, and far too fragile, in his mind. 

They were both silent, as he worked, until Hwan's face was again whole. Only then did Hwan say, “Reza killed him.”

Amon looked up from the bowl of water, questioning.

Hwan clarified. “The one who broke into my room, who grabbed me. Reza killed him. He dragged him out to the balcony, hung him over the side, and burned him alive.” His voice is calm, eerily so. “He screamed.” His expression was far away as he spoke, and Amon thought to say something, but Hwan kept on, in that same calm, yet puzzled tone. “He was going to rape me, you know. I knew it. He knew it. There was no pretense. He came into my room, struck me, and started pulling at my clothes.”

“Did he?” Amon asked fearfully. 

“No,” Hwan shook his head, still calm. “Reza came in.”

“Hwan,”

“He burned him alive.” He said again, his face so serene it frightened Amon. “He just kept screaming, but Reza never flinched. He made him die slow.”

“Hwan,” he tried again.

“He's been in my bed, Amon. That man has been in my bed.” He was afraid, Amon realized. This was Hwan afraid, well and truly. Not nervous, or petulant, or annoyed. This was pure fear. “Please, Amon, go back to the clinic. Don't stay with Lieu. He's no better, you know that. They're all awful. They all are.” 

He wanted to speak, but didn't know what to say. The ease of last night and today was like a lie, one that sat too heavy in his chest. The only image he could see of Lieu now was him, holding that stick, and that woman screaming in agony. He closed his eyes, inhaled, exhaled, and remembered all his anger that night in front of the clinic. Remembered Yasu's fear. Pasook's sorrow.

He remembered, and despaired for all the love in his heart. 

“You love Reza,” he said, because it needed to be said, but he was still ashamed to do it when Hwan hid his face in his sleeve. “Hwan, you can't.”

“Leave him.” Hwan said, more firmly. “Go back to the clinic, be a revolution, but don't be me.” 

Amon looked at him for a long moment, before he said, “No.” Hwan had only a second to look confused, before Amon continued, “This isn't just about me. You know that. I need other people, people like you, to help. I can't do it on my own, and there's no point in trying.”

“They killed Baraz,” he said helplessly, but Amon kept talking. 

“And you're still alive.” 

“Only because someone saved me,” Hwan insisted, but Amon had heard enough. He grabbed him by the arm, and tugged him, but Hwan resisted easily, the muscle built from carrying trays and hours spent dancing showing at last. “Amon,”

“I'm a bender, and you're pulling away from me. You're not weak. You've let them convince you you are, so you'll stay in line and do as they say.” Amon said, releasing him. “You were sold into this, but you're the one who let them break you. And now your friend is dead and the only reason you're not lying beside him is because a thug thinks you're pretty enough to keep around.” 

Hwan didn't look away from him, his green eyes on Amon's grey ones, steady and insulted and angry, but he was listening at last, finally hearing what Amon was saying. 

Amon looked him up and down, and asked, “Is this who you want to be remembered as? A whore, murdered to piss off some Triad trash?” 

“Amon,” Hwan warned him, but Amon kept going.

“Because that's all Baraz is going to be remembered as, and the only people that are going to remember him are you and the other people in this house. To the city, he's less than nothing.” It was an awful thing to say, but so true it was painful, and Hwan knew it as well as Amon did. “Stop being a victim, and start fighting back, for once in your life.”

Hwan licked his lips, but just as he was about to reply, the door opened, and Reza entered. He was bruised on his unscarred side, but not badly enough to warrant healing, nor did he ask. Instead, his eye went to Hwan, his expression softening, as he reached out and brushed Hwan's hair away from his face. 

“Reza,” Hwan said, voice low and demure and far too fond for Amon's comfort. “Amon's healed almost everyone. We're just going up to Taruk's room.” 

“Alright,” Reza looked like he wanted to say something else, something soft, but if he did, he changed his mind, and said, “They're all dead. Last two talked.”

“Did they?” Hwan asked, his eyes cast down as Reza leaned over and closed the space between them, his ruined mouth brushing Hwan's temple. “Good.”

Amon had seen enough. He filled a metal bowl from the counter with water, and started out the door, leaving Hwan to make his decisions. Not only that, he couldn't risk waiting there, and being found by Lieu. He wasn't ready to see him. He didn't know if he would ever be ready to see him, not after that. He certainly couldn't stomach the idea of Lieu touching him, not anytime soon, not ever again. 

He closed his eyes tight, as he dry heaved, dropping the metal bowl with a clang on the hardwood floor, the water splashing everywhere. He caught himself with one hand on the railing of the steps as he struggled to keep his lunch down, but his stomach heaved again, her scream echoing through his skull without end. 

_No_ , he thought forcefully, and concentrated hard on the anatomy of the hand, the tendons and veins and bones, until it was all he saw in his mind's eye. 

“Amon?” He heard behind him, but he shook his head and held up a hand, warning Hwan to keep his distance. After a second, he was sure he was fine, and crouched down, picking up the bowl, and bending the water back up off the floor and into the bowl. 

“Taruk needs us.” He said, instead of answering the question in Hwan's eyes. 

Upstairs, Baraz's door was open. 

Three servants he'd healed knelt around his body, wrapping it up in a sheet as a fourth chanted solemnly, phrases that were only half-familiar to Amon, things he'd heard before when Fire Nation had died in the clinic, things said to the dead to bring their spirits comfort. 

Even in death, Baraz was beautiful, he thought, his lovely porcelain face unchanged, his golden eyes half-closed and clouded over, staring out at nothing, never to see again. Amon watched, as they covered his face with the sheet, shrouding him forever. 

There was a sob to his right, and he turned to see Bao, bruised, his lip split with dried blood down his chin, kneeling on the floor and watching as well. 

For a second, Amon wanted to offer comfort, until he remembered it was Bao's fault Baraz was lying there, dead. They'd wanted to hurt him, and they'd done it through Baraz.

He walked by him, towards Taruk's room, Hwan not lingering as he did. 

He didn't blame him. He didn't think he could look at Penna or Pasook like that for long, not when he knew them so well alive. He couldn't look into their dead eyes and know there were never going to see another thing again, couldn't look at their slack mouths and know they would never smile or laugh or speak again. 

“He was only nineteen.” Hwan said, behind him, and he said nothing else as they ducked into Taruk's room.

He was bruised. And they had not been gentle. 

Amon had him turn on his stomach as he and Hwan helped him get what was left of his clothes off, so Amon could work freely, stopping the bleeding with a quiet sort of rage in his heart. He was heavily torn and raw inside, and bloody enough on the outside, from where they'd sunk their teeth on, slapped him, or used their bending. 

Thankfully, it was mostly that. Internally, he was fine, or rather, what Amon could heal. The boy curled up in a ball when he was done, his young face dirty with tears, and Amon cleaned that too, with his sleeve, but he didn't think it did much good. 

He asked them nothing and Amon only asked him where he hurt, where they'd hurt him. When he was sure he was finished, Hwan pulled the covers up and over him, tucking him in, but left the door open so the light from the hall came in. 

Down at the end, there were four men carrying Baraz's body, wrapped in the sheet, down the stairs. 

Just nineteen, he thought. He had been the same age as Penna. 

“Amon.” 

He turned to look at Hwan, the man standing straight with his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at Amon and not the body of his friend. 

“Teach me what Lieu knows.” He said. “How to fight like he does.”

“Hwan,” Amon said, surprised and pleased, even now, in all this awfulness.

“I can't.” He shook his head. “I can't do this again.”

Amon looked at him, this friend he had never tried to make who had reached out to him anyway, in the middle of this lonely city, despite knowing Amon had a past and secrets. Hwan had been the first person besides Kanna he had connected with, he realized, not Lieu. He was the only patient he'd let himself be personally involved with, the only one he'd worried over. 

Oh, he thought, how had he been so blinded by Lieu? If that was love, he wanted no more of it. 

“I still need to figure it out myself,” Amon said, thinking of the book, and oh, Tarrlok. How had he forgotten Tarrlok in all this mess? “I have a book.”

“I can help with that.” Hwan replied, with a shrug. “I've learned plenty of dances from books. I can learn this too.” He was only twenty-four, Amon realized. He seemed so much older, sometimes, so beyond his years, but really he was still technically young. Still young enough to learn something as potentially complicated as chi-blocking, and with enough mastery of his body to pull it off. “But Amon, this has to be a secret, like you said. No one can know.”

Amon nodded, knowing without being told that what Hwan had said in the restaurant was true. He would be killed by the Triad if he was found out, and they would not be merciful about it. 

He would die screaming like that woman had, if he was found out. 

“We'll think of something.” He said, not just meaning the two of them. Penna, and Pasook, and even Yasu, they would follow this too, he was sure. And there had to be others as well, people who wanted to be equal in the eyes of the law, who were tired of being pushed around by the Triads and the Council. They just had to find them, had to reach out to them and convince them that it was worth the risk, worth the fight. 

That the world could still be better. 

Hwan glanced at a spot over Amon's shoulder, and he turned, to see Lieu. 

“Everything alright?” He asked, so cheerfully, like he hadn't just electrocuted a woman to death in the courtyard. Like everything was still as it had been. 

“Fine.” Amon lied, as easy as breathing. “Just fine.”

 

-

 

He let Lieu take him back to the apartment so he could get his things, the old parka, his books, and even the candy he had bought on that silly whim. It was still wrapped tight, and Penna would still appreciate it. 

“Where is my brother?” He asked, when Lieu came out of the bath, toweling off his fine hair. 

“Hm?” Lieu gave his hair a vigorous scrub, and turned to him. “The kid? Why? You ready to see him?”

The dishes were still on the table from lunch, he noticed, in a distant sort of way. A servant would probably clear them away eventually. 

“I just want to know where he is.” Amon said, as Lieu took a look around the room, his eyes taking in the bags gathered at the door, the old parka folded and put in the one with the books. His expression turned stern and calculating.”Lieu, where is he?”

“Not telling.” Lieu replied, his tone a good deal colder than it had been. 

Amon raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What?”

“You're leaving.” Lieu shrugged, his eyes cold to Amon for the first time. “If I tell you where he is, you're going to leave, aren't you?”

“I need to go back to the clinic.” Amon said, hardly daring to believe what was happening. Was Lieu actually holding him hostage with the information? Would he do that?

The other man disappeared back into the bedroom, presumably to get dressed, and Amon followed, lingering in the doorway as he pulled on a pair of cotton trousers, tossing the towel from his waist at the laundry basket. The other stayed around his neck, as he patted the skin dry, not looking at Amon. 

“Lieu,”

“This isn't how it is, not all the time. Today was just a bad day.” He said, throwing the other towel to join the first, not bothering with a shirt. “Today was a really bad day, I'll give it that. But shit like this, it's going to die down, once we push the Red Monsoon back behind 17th and Gaipan. They'll be closed in, they won't come down here anymore. Things'll settle.”

Amon stared, before the words came without his consent. “Until you decide to push them back further, right? Or the Agni Kai come at you from the other side?” It's a challenge that Lieu can't defeat, his blue eyes still so cold as he smirks. “This isn't funny, Lieu. People died today.”

“Two whores died.” Lieu said, like that was somehow different. “No one cares.”

“I care.” He contradicted. “If they killed me tomorrow-”

“They _won't_ ,”

“Would you say it the same way? A _healer_ died?” Amon put the same dismissive emphasis on the word as he had put on _whore_ , angry, furious even, that Lieu could do this so easily. “I'm not important to the city, Lieu. I work at a free clinic. I ask for handouts with the rest of the staff. I heal those who everyone else sees as a waste of time. The drunks and the addicts and the _whores_ , and they're all probably better off financially than I am. I know Hwan is.” Even Taruk probably had more to his name than Amon. “Amon isn't even my real name. If anyone in this city knew who I was, who my father was, they wouldn't be sorry over my death.”

“That's not the same,”

“Because you say so?” He questioned. 

“Yes.” 

Amon shook his head, sad and angry and a myriad of other complicated emotions. This man had given him respect and affection and joy, but Amon would not let this be his life. “My worth is not defined by you, Lieu. No matter where you sit at Zolt's table.” 

“That's not what I meant!” He crossed the room in three long strides, and when his hands closed over Amon's biceps, his grip was painful, bruising. 

Hwan, on a hundred clinic visits, always bruised. Always beaten. 

Oh, he thought, and fought back tears. Oh. Oh no. 

“Stop twisting my words!” Lieu ordered, and it was an order, no mistake. “Would you just listen, spirits, Amon, just listen to me, okay?” He let his arms ago, but one arm went around his waist, and the other grabbed his chin, forced him to look up at him. “I love you. Bossy, and mean, and sarcastic, and self-righteous, all of it. I love you.”

Amon knew what he was asking, heard the _so love my flaws too_ , but it wasn't the same, not at all. 

“They're people,” he found himself saying, for some reason. “You degrade them for being whores, when you make your money off them. They're good enough to pay your rent, but not to be people.” He heard again, the crowd chanting _Mutt!_ in that almost unkind way, heard his fighter's bitterness over his mixed heritage again. “You're such a hypocrite.” He hissed. 

Lieu swore, and Amon's back hit the wall. He attacked before he quite knew what he was doing, desperate to defend himself, his mind all of ten again, afraid and shaken, but there were the taps on his arm, stopping him. Before he could think, there was another against his head, twisting, and just like that, he was helpless, his limbs buzzing with pins and needles and he stared up at Lieu. 

“Did you just...?” He asked, disbelieving. 

“I'm not an idiot.” Lieu replied, holding Amon up by his shoulders against the wall. “All I needed to hit was the chi line here,” he caressed the spot with a gentle finger that belied what he had done to Amon, the violation he had just committed. “And boom, no more psychic bloodbending, not for an hour at least.” 

“My bending.” Amon couldn't feel anything, his fingers aching from what Lieu had done, as he tried desperately to feel the chi in the water, in himself. Nothing. Nothing at all. 

_Yue_ , he prayed desperately. _Yue, no, please,_ but his limbs remained heavy and useless, as Lieu directed his body to lie on the bed, sitting beside him.

“You just need to listen,” Lieu insisted. “Today was a bad day, and I'm sorry you saw that.” He stroked Amon's face, as Amon's heart beat an erratic pattern against his sternum, terrified of the man beside him in a way he never had been before. “But that's not who I am, you know that. That's not who we are.”

He was saying it so sincerely, as though Amon weren't chi-blocked on the bed, completely helpless for the first time he could ever remember. Completely at his mercy. 

“I love you,” he said, so earnestly. “Don't you get that?” 

“Lieu, please,” he begged, the words like lead in his mouth. “I can't feel the water.” The feeling was indescribably painfully, as bad as losing fingers, a leg. He wanted to sob from it. Why had he come here? Why had he ever trusted this man? 

“It'll fade soon.” Lieu assured him. “Long enough for you to listen to me, alright?” 

“Lieu, it hurts,” Amon couldn't believe Lieu would ever cause him pain, but now, now he looked up at him and remembered something Hwan had said, about how Lieu and Reza weren't all that different, in Reza's opinion. “Please,” the word slipped out, but Lieu shook his head. 

“Just listen to me.” He pleaded. “Just listen.”

_Yue,_ he prayed. _Yue, please, help me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but only because it's about to get serious and if I left it, it would be a thirty page chapter.


	19. Interlude: Penna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amon hasn't come back to the clinic, and Penna isn't buying any bullshit about him being sick, so as far she's concerned, it's time for a rescue mission.
> 
> Yasu and Pasook know better than to argue when she's got that look on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Penna!
> 
> And no. I haven't slept lately. Why do you ask?

“Penna,” 

Penna, still groggy with fever, huffed over her hair and turned to Pasook, who stood in her doorway. “What do you want?” She asked, blinking at herself in the mirror. She looked terrible and knew it, pale with fever and dark circles under her eyes, her hair limp and uncooperative. She felt sticky with sweat from her previous fever, but she hadn't had time to bathe. 

Amon had promised to help her when he got back the day before, but he hadn't come. She supposed he'd come back too late, or she'd been sleeping when he had. 

“Penna, did Amon come by last night?” He asked, scratching at his neck.

“Stop that,” she snapped. “I'm not healing it when you scratch yourself bloody again. And what do you mean, did he come by? Ask him yourself, he's on shift.” She sighed, and gave up, twisting her hair up in a bun, and covering it with the fine cashmere wool scarf her mother had given her for graduation. “What do you think, respectable enough?” She's like to say she didn't give a damn, but she'd been raised in a formal household, and the thought of going out with her hair loose and uncovered made her uncomfortable, even now. 

“Hold on,” Pasook stepped in, and redid her knot, so it sat more firmly on her head, then stuck a pin she used for her formal hairstyle through it and her hair. “Should stay on now. And I can't ask him. He's not here.”

“What?” Amon wasn't the type to sleep after a shift, but he had been out the day before, and mornings were always awful. Maybe he had gone back to take a nap. “Did you check his room?”

Pasook nodded, biting his lip. “His roommate said he didn't come home last night. And no one on last night's or this morning's shift has seen him. He missed it.” He pulled on his sleeves, then asked, “Penna, that guy, you don't think he...?” 

The man from that night, the one who had broken Amon's heart, he meant. The one Yasu said was dangerous. He certainly looked dangerous. She couldn't believe Amon had ever taken up with him, had ever even spoken to him. 

“Why, do you...?” She asked, wondering herself now, if the man had found Amon.

“I know Amon is a pretty badass bender,” Pasook replied, seemingly wary of insulting Amon somehow, even when he wasn't here. “But Yasu says that guy is scary. And Yasu's not scared of a whole lot. And Amon, he never misses a shift. Ever. Even when he's sick.”

He wasn't wrong, she knew. 

“Maybe he sent a message to the front desk?” She hazarded, hoping against the odds that Amon was just delayed somewhere. Maybe there had been some kind of emergency, and he was with a patient. Or maybe he was hurt, she worried, paranoia creeping in. 

Mei was at the desk when they got there, but she didn't do much to alleviate their fears. “Oh yes, he's taken ill at a friend's house.” She said, smiling. “Probably indulged a little too much on his day off.” This she said with a wink, clearly expecting them to laugh with her, but when they didn't, she frowned. “The messenger is just there, you can ask him.” 

She indicated a boy headed down the steps outside, and they both took off after him, Mei calling out, wondering where they thought they were going, “You have your shifts!” She shouted, but neither paid her any mind. 

The boy, a teenager around fifteen, startled when they appeared in front of him, but his face quickly twisted in a scowl. He was an Earth Kingdom-Fire Nation mutt, to guess from his fine black hair and green eyes, and scrawny, though his clothes were nice. New. Haircut was new too, she noted. Odd. He scowled ugly enough when he looked at them for her to dismiss those things, and scowl back. Nasty little brat. 

“What do you want?” He asked, and she resisted the urge to thump him. He reminded her of her little brothers, and she hated her little brothers. 

“Who gave you that message about Amon?” She demanded, but the boy just scowled harder. 

“None of your business, Tundra bitch,” he replied, pushing past her. 

Pasook said something, but Penna was faster, grabbing him by the elbow and turning him around forcefully. Sick she was, but she was still stronger than the skinny little asshole, enough she could hold him still. “Who gave you the message?” 

“What are you two doing?” Yasu was walking up the steps with one of the baskets meant for carrying glass vials over his arm. He'd been at the apothecary then, probably on an errand. Now he had his eyebrow raised, looking between the three like he was trying to make the scene make sense. 

“Amon didn't come home last night, and he missed his shift this morning.” Pasook explained, as Penna held on to the kid. He wanted to bend, she could tell, but he was probably a firebender, and not a master. He didn't want to risk her kicking his ass, which she would if he dared. “This kid delivered a message saying he was sick at a friend's house, but we're his only friends and Amon doesn't do sick.” 

Yasu frowned, and put the basket down carefully. With Penna holding the kid's arms behind his back, Yasu grabbed him and shoved his sleeves up, his face very serious as the boy struggled and swore. Yasu found what he was looking for when he pushed open the boy's first layer, a plain white cotton robe, to show a koi fish surrounded by rushing water on his collarbone and dipping down to his ribs. 

“He's Triad,” Yasu confirmed, as the boy kicked out, presumably to hit Yasu, but Yasu grabbed him by the chin and forced his head back, Penna holding him tight. “I know that artist's mark, it's Ayane's. You're Triple Threat.” 

“What of it?” The kid tried to sound a lot tougher than he felt, because Penna could feel him trembling in her grasp. 

“Who gave you that message?”

“I'm not telling you!” He swore some more, the insolent little brat, but stopped when Pasook stuck a hand against his neck. He was obviously dropping the temperature of his hand, and the kid squirmed, in apparent pain. 

“Answer the question, you little bastard, or I'll drown you where we stand. It'll be slow and it'll hurt, and I won't feel sorry for you at all.” The kid squeaked, as Yasu and Penna held him still for Pasook. “Now you tell us where our friend is.” 

“Please,” he struggled harder. “That hurts,”

“Yeah, you know what's going to hurt more?” Yasu growled, his gold eyes intent on the kid. He was even frightening Penna a little now. “The first time they tell you to go in someone's house, and take their kids, because they can't pay their debts. Or when they ask you to burn down someone's shop because they didn't pay enough insurance. That's going to hurt a whole lot more, trust me.” He tugged on the kid's shirt, his face hard and unyielding. “You sold your soul for a set of new clothes and a few meals.”

“Shut up!” He yelled. “You don't know anything! You pure-blooded asshole, don't you tell me what to do!” 

“Oh yeah, because being pure-blooded, that gave me every opportunity right? That's why I'm a medic in a free clinic.” Penna would have been insulted, and she bet Pasook would have been too, if they weren't here for the same reason Yasu was here. They had nowhere else to go. “You tell us where our friend is, and then do yourself a favor and go find another life, alright?” 

Though she couldn't see his face, she knew from how he stilled that he was, if only for a second, listening. 

“The Lieutenant, he sent me. He said your friend was sick, but I saw him, he wasn't.” Pasook, taking some cue from Yasu, released him, as did Yasu. Cautiously, Penna relaxed her hold on the kid, her head pounding from exertion now that she let herself think about it. Spirits, she needed to be more careful. She'd been sick, she wasn't at the top of her game just yet. 

“Where is he?” She asked, and the kid turned to her, then rattled off an address that put Amon in the center of Triple Threat territory. 

Pasook swore, and Yasu grabbed the kid by the scruff, shoving him down the first two steps. “Go home, kid. Now. And if you're smart, you won't tell anyone what you just told us. They'll pretend to be nice about it, understanding.” The kid blinked at him, as Yasu grabbed his hand, held it up in the kid's face. “And then that Lieutenant, or the other one, one of them will give an order, and someone will come in, and hold you down, and then whichever lieutenant is there, will take off three of the fingers on your left hand. See how well you firebend like that.”

The kid paled, and when Yasu released him, he turned and ran without another word. 

“Yasu,” Pasook stepped forward, a hand on his shoulder. 

“I'm fine, “ he said, as Penna averted her eyes to give them some privacy. “I'm fine, don't worry.” 

“What do we do?” Pasook asked, so she deemed it safe to look back. 

“You two need to go get him.” Yasu said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I can't expect to go in there and come back out, but you two can. No one knows you,” this he said to Pasook. “You looked a lot different when you were a kid. You have to go in, and get him out.”

“What if,” Pasook looked at Penna. “What if he's there of his own free will?”

Penna huffed, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well then, he's a fucking idiot, and we need to go beat some sense into his head.” 

Pasook blinked, and opened his mouth to protest, but Yasu shook his head at him. “She's got that look on her face.” 

“Damn it.” 

They got their parkas from their rooms, breezing past Mei again as she shouted after them that they weren't allowed to just miss their shifts and she was telling Kanna first thing. “Tell her we've gone to get Amon!” Penna shouted back at her, as she finished buttoning her coat. 

Yasu rode the trolley with them as far as he could, none of them wanting to risk wasting the time and energy it would take to make it on foot. Pasook held his hand for a good part of it, Yasu telling them who to avoid, warning them about well-dressed kids, tattoo artists, and the tea shop just near the address they were headed to. 

“How do you know there's a tea shop there?” Penna asked. 

He shrugged. “I don't. It's always a tea shop though, or a tattoo shop, or something like that. Something small and innocuous.” Penna listened, as he kept talking, told them to keep to themselves and when they got to the building, try to be as nonthreatening as possible. “He's probably not expecting anyone to come for him, not so soon, but there will be guards. Say you're friends of the lieutenant's healer.” 

“He's not property.” Penna hissed, offended, but Yasu just shook his head.

“That's not how they see it.” His hand in Pasook's was pale, as his grip tightened. “Probably not even how his boyfriend sees it.” He chuckled, and kissed Pasook's temple. “Should have taken me up on my offer.”

“Not a chance.” Pasook warned. 

At the last stop before Triple Threat territory, Yasu got off, to wait, she realized. He wouldn't leave until he knew they were safely out. 

And now it was her hand Pasook was holding. “It'll be alright.” She said. “He won't hurt Amon.”

“You don't know that.” He replied.

She looked down at her lap. “No, I don't.” 

The trolley took them close enough to the building, and for all Yasu had talked about it being guarded, there wasn't anyone there that she could see, unless she counted the people who obviously worked there. They all looked a little harried though, and there wasn't even an operator in the elevator. “What's going on?” Pasook asked, but she shook her head, just as confused.

Thankfully though, she had been an elevator operator for all of a month, years ago, and though this one was a lot nicer than the one she had worked, she worked it out easily enough, saving them the time it would take to get up the steps. The place was on the top floor, the kid had said. 

The gate needed a key to be opened at the top, she realized, but Pasook used his bending, a small, thin stream of water, to pick the lock. 

There wasn't anyone there either, just an empty square-shaped receiving room with an opaque panel door on each wall, all leading to different apartments. “Something's happened.” Pasook said. “Some kind of emergency. That's the only reason they'd leave a lieutenant's home unguarded. And the others must be pretty high up too, to be his neighbors.” 

“If people were hurt, wouldn't we know?” She asked, but he shook his head.

“If it was something big, they wouldn't want anyone to know. It'd show weakness. They'll keep it quiet.” 

The center door, the kid had said. It was locked, and when she pressed her ear to the door, she heard voices. Someone with a deep voice speaking.

Someone pleading. 

“Amon?” She called out, knocking on the frame hard. “Amon, are you there?” There was more talking, and movement, and then the door slid open to show the man from the clinic that night, the man from the fights. “Where's Amon?” She asked forcefully. 

“He's not feeling well.” The man made to close the door again, but Penna pulled water from her flask, freezing it in place, and when she did, the man moved for her, but she was quicker. She ducked under his arm, Pasook distracting him with something, and found herself in possibly the nicest place she'd ever been in. 

And she found Amon, sitting on the couch, brow furrowed. “Penna?” 

She rushed forward, before she could be stopped by anyone else that might be there, “Amon? Are you alright?” He so obviously wasn't, as he flinched in pain. She'd never seen him sit so limply, and when she touched him, he flinched. 

Oh, the man was dead. He was _dead_ , she seethed internally, pushing his sleeve up to show unmarked skin. No bruising? But then why did it hurt for him to be touched? 

“He chi-blocked me.” Amon whispered, so only she could hear, and her breath caught. She'd never seen a bender completely chi-blocked. Oh spirits, it must hurt so bad, and he had...but he was supposed to love Amon, and he had...spirits. 

“Get up, come on.” She helped him stand, as something behind them crashed. “We're taking you home.” 

A hand on her shoulder wrenched her away from him, and she was face-to-face with the man, his blue eyes narrowed in rage. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” She saw Pasook out of the corner of her eye, his right arm clutched to his chest. 

“I'm his friend, and he's coming home.” She said decisively. 

“He's staying here.” The man insisted. 

“You can't keep him prisoner!” She shoved at him, and went back to Amon. “Do you want to leave?”

“No, he doesn't.” The man said, but Amon just looked up at her, his expression more open than she could ever remember. He was in a lot of pain, he had to be, to be so weak in front of her. 

“I want to go home.” He said, and that was that for her. She helped him up, sure that once she had him close the man would keep his distance, and she was right. He was looking at Amon, something needy in his face she didn't like. 

“Amon, please, just-”

Penna kept him moving, an arm around his waist, as he looked away from the man. Amon was too tall now to really lean on her too easily, but they managed, and it was easier once Pasook was on the other side. “Come on buddy,” Pasook said, as he grabbed bags by the door, one with Amon's parka in it, the other his messenger bag, both full of things. He had been going to the stores yesterday, she remembered. There was a new blue parka hanging on the hook, and she grabbed it too, helping him into it, while the lieutenant stood, watching, brow furrowed in thought. 

They were almost out the door before he said, “I'll tell you where your brother is.”

Between them, Amon froze.

“If you stay, I'll tell you where he is.”

“Amon,” Penna shook her head, but he still looked back at the man, and for a moment, she was afraid. 

But all he said was, “No, you won't.” 

They got out the door before the man could do something to stop them, Penna herding them into the elevator, and locking the gate shut. 

“Amon,” she tried, but he wouldn't look at her. 

No one bothered them the rest of the way out, until they left the building. There was a pair of twins waiting outside, Earth Kingdom-Water Tribe, and they both carried flasks. Both Water Tribe then. 

And they both had prominent tattoos on their bared arms, the sleeves of their shirts rolled back. 

Two, she thought fearfully. They couldn't take two. 

Then one smirked, and handed the other twenty yuan. “Told you he'd have to be carried out.” She said. “Though I was thinking it'd be on a stretcher.” She stepped forward, and before Penna could stop her, she stroked Amon's side tail, her eyes hard and laughing. “Shame. You might have graduated out of moll status, eventually.” 

“Oh well.” The other said, shrugging. “See you around, healer.” She winked, and sauntered around them, her sister following, but one leaned back, her face between Penna's and Amon's, mouth by Amon's ear. “And we will be seeing you, make no mistake.”

“I look forward to it.” Amon managed, as civilly as if they were at tea together.

Behind them, she heard, “Play you for who has to tell Reza,”

“No way, let's just make the brat do it,” 

Amon stepped out from between them, and even now, she could see he was still in pain. His chi was probably flowing again, and that had to be uncomfortable. “I want to go home.” He said, and Pasook dashed forward, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 

“No problem buddy. No problem.” 

The trolley ride home was quiet, and they had just enough to cover Amon's fare as well as their own. He was in no state to walk. Yasu joined them once they left the territory, sitting down beside Pasook quietly. When Pasook flinched, he looked them all over again. “Are you alright?”

“Bastard chi-blocked me.” Pasook said, and Penna watched Amon, how still his eyes were as he stared ahead. 

“How long did he have you chi-blocked?” She asked, quiet enough no one else on the trolley would hear. 

“Two hours.” He said, flexing his fingers. 

Pasook opened his mouth, then closed it, and leaned forward to rest his head against Amon's shoulder. For a second, she thought he was going to cry, but then she realized that was her, she was the one crying, and she joined the two of them, wrapping her arms around them both. They must have looked ridiculous to the other people on the trolley, but when she felt Amon go boneless against her, hiding his face away, she didn't much care. 

“Hey,” Yasu shook Pasook, moving them all. “C'mon. We're home.” He helped Amon stand, and put an arm around him, tugging him in tight as they disembarked and made their way down the sidewalk. “We're safe.”

“Uh,” Pasook had stopped, in the middle of the sidewalk, Penna nearly bumping into him. 

“You idiot, what are you-” Penna stopped too, as she saw what he was looking at.

Kanna stood in the front of the clinic. 

“So um,” Pasook tilted his head back at them. “Who wants to explain this one? 'Cause I vote not-me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This must be what going mad feels like."


	20. Interlude: Hwan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or maybe Reza and Lieu really are as different as Hwan thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to go sleep now.
> 
> This is a very short interlude. Very short. It's supposed to be. Next chapter, we're back to Amon, and all the horrible things that entails. I just wanted to give you a short burst of happiness. Well. As happy as this fic gets.

Hwan gathered his hair up, and brought it over his shoulder. He counted out one hundred brush strokes, slowly, methodically, like he did every night. One hundred, to keep his hair clean and soft. It didn't need oil tonight, hadn't for awhile. He hadn't had anyone press it flat in so long, it had turned back to its natural state completely. Soft and thick like lamb's wool, when he straightened it, it hung even longer. Even now, it brushed the floor. 

Baraz had very long hair as well. Not as long as his, but then, he'd had less time to grow it. He'd been a full five years younger than Hwan. 

He wondered how they would style his hair for his funeral. A traditional top knot, most likely. He would have preferred that. The white robes too, those would be necessary. He would have to convince Reza to take it out of the house funds. 

He couldn't let Baraz be buried with anything but the full ceremony. He just couldn't. 

His room still smelled like smoke, no matter how much incense he lit. He could still hear the man scream, as he had gathered his clothes back about himself. Could still see Reza's face, his cold fury as he grabbed the man with his good hand and hauled him off Hwan, dragging him to the balcony, holding him over. 

“Were you told to go after him?” He'd demanded, shaking the man while Hwan watched, frozen in place. The man had nodded, or said something in the affirmative, and Reza had replied, so cold, “Then you must have made your boss mad.”

And then the fire had erupted down his arm, over the man's body, and he had screamed and screamed and screamed, until he had stopped, and Reza had released his charred corpse, for it to fall into the courtyard below. 

Hwan had watched it all, as Reza had turned back, and walked past him, without so much as a glance. 

Now, he brushed his hair, and remembered that the same Reza who held him so carefully was the same man capable of that kind of violence. 

Downstairs, he heard noise. Shouting. Zolt. He wasn't pleased by any of this, small wonder. But for Zolt, he knew, it was a matter of the lost income, the insult. Zolt didn't know Baraz. Or Li. Or Meiko. 

He'd snapped at her, he remembered, with a sob that had him covering his face. He'd been so irritated with her. And then he'd had to listen, as they all ran for cover, when they caught her. He'd heard her scream, heard her cry for help, but had remained frozen in his room, too frightened to open the door. Too aware that he would be no help at all. That they would just kill him too. 

He'd listened to Meiko scream, as they hurt her, over and over. Until she'd stopped at last, her cries diminishing to a quiet kind of sob, before there was nothing else to hear. Li, poor little boy, hadn't had a chance to scream. They'd killed him immediately, not even with bending. They'd slit his throat. Poor little boy, only thirteen. 

He'd known of course, they'd come for him. He hadn't been surprised when the man came into his room, pushed him down. He'd known what was about to happen, and the cold acceptance in his heart had frightened him more than anything. 

Amon's words, so strong and alluring, still rang through his head, his own promise twisting him up inside. He didn't want to fight, didn't want to be hurt, but spirits, he couldn't do this ever again. He couldn't ever hear that again. He couldn't ever feel that cold acceptance, that tired defeat within. He couldn't be this person anymore, this pretty little doll they'd shaped him into. He just couldn't.

But could he fight? Did he even possess that kind of inner strength? He had never tried to be strong, never tried to be anything but adaptable. What if he failed Amon, ruined the whole thing? 

There was a knock at his door, and he rose to open it. It was Reza, keeping his distance. 

He had seemed so hard, earlier, but now he was only the Reza who let Hwan brush his hair every night, tired and too young for the life he lived. They both were, he thought. Far too young for any of this. 

Baraz and Meiko and Li had all been too young to die. 

“Reza,” Hwan bowed his head in respect, but Reza didn't look like he wanted that at all. “You must be tired. Come in.”

“No.” He shook his head, his refusal a surprise to Hwan. He seemed so sad though, so alone, standing there in the hallway. “I shouldn't...if you want me to sleep somewhere else, I won't blame you. Not after today.” At first, Hwan thought he meant for the night, but then he realized just what kind of out Reza was offering him now. He would let him go, release him from their agreement. All Hwan had to do was say so. 

He didn't know if he wanted to sob or laugh, as he covered his mouth, his throat hot and tight. “A Triad with honor.” He joked, even though it was far from funny. He could still hear that man's scream, but he could still feel the way he himself had called for Reza, in that room, when he was afraid. He had called Reza's name, and he had come. “Reza, come to bed please.” 

Reza's shoulders slumped in relief, as he came in, Hwan sliding the door shut. They stayed there for too long, breathing each other's breath, as Reza played with his hair, his touch delicate as he combed them through it. “I thought I was too late. Then I heard you.” His fingers slid down, over Hwan's chest and waist, to his own hand, where he joined their fingers and raised Hwan's hand to his lips. “They were going to kill you. Because of me.”

Hwan saw no point in hiding that truth, so he nodded. “They wanted to make you angry. Damage your property, you know.” He tried to smile, but all he could hear was Bao swearing as Baraz screamed for him, Bao's dry sobs as they wrapped up the body, the guilt in his eyes as they waved the incense around his room. 

Reza pressed his lips to Hwan's hand, and shook his head. “Spirits, stop talking about yourself like that. You're not fucking property, alright? You're not _my_ property.”

“Reza,” Hwan cautioned, but Reza kept on.

“They weren't doing it to make me angry, you idiot.” He said, shame-faced. “The twins hear everything that goes on in this city, everything, and the rumors are already out that Zolt's lieutenant is in love with some long-haired whore.” 

Strangely enough, it wasn't the word _whore_ that was said like a curse, but instead Reza's own title. 

“I'm sorry.” Reza said, again pressing his lips to Hwan's knuckles. “I'm so sorry. I should have stayed the fuck away from you, but every time you went upstairs with someone else, I wanted to kill them for getting what I wouldn't let myself have. And then you offered, and I couldn't. I'm sorry.” He wouldn't look at Hwan as he spoke, but nor would he release his hand. “I'm not asking you to love me, I know, okay, I know you're only sleeping with me to-”

And Hwan surged forward, kissing him, not bothering to think, just this once. Just this once, he showed all his cards, as he said, “Why else do you think I'd let you kiss me?” Because he was afraid and Baraz was dead and even Amon, in all his awkwardness, had seen what Hwan had hidden in his heart when it came to Reza. He didn't care right now, didn't care at all that Reza was probably a terrible person, that he'd burned people alive today. 

All he cared about was that Reza loved him, and no one had ever loved him like that. No one ever loved him enough to kill for him, to protect him. His own father had sold him to pay his debts, after all. “Reza please, don't go anywhere else, alright, stay here, stay with me,” _love me and let me love you_. 

“I'm bad for you,” he said, sounding almost desperate for an excuse. “I nearly got you killed today, or worse,”

“Nothing is worse than being killed.” Hwan swore, kissing him again. “I hate when people say that, like rape is somehow worse, it's not. I can handle rape, as long as I live. That man was going to do it just to add insult to injury. Not to break me.” 

“Hwan,” Reza caressed his face, gentle, and Hwan could have cried to realize this was the same hand that had burned that man alive. Without flinching, he took Reza's bad hand in his, and pressed that one to his face as well. It felt odd, the ruined skin, but he still turned towards it, and kissed the palm. “Don't.”

“It doesn't bother me.” He promised, leaning forward to kiss him again. 

“It should,” Reza insisted. “I'm not a good person. You saw what I did today. You really want me in your bed?” He pulled away abruptly, and walked away, towards the balcony. He yanked his shirt off while he did, throwing it away to lie somewhere on the floor, his back now on full display. In the light of the oil lamps, all the ink Reza wore stark against his pale skin. “You know what it means, Hwan. You're not stupid, no matter how you act for Zolt and the rest of them. Spirits know, you've slept with plenty of Triad before me. You know all of them, I bet.”

Hwan stepped forward, one, two, three steps, and then raised a hand to touch Reza's back. “A dragon for power, for fierceness and loyalty. You're Zolt's dragon.” He ran the pads of his fingers down, over the rest. “Such a big dragon means you earned your loyalty. You probably killed for Zolt. Multiple times. The maple leaves, for your home,” Reza huffed, maybe remembering what he had told Hwan, “For the Fire Nation. Loyalty, even when Zolt has none.” He kept trailing his finger, extending both hands so that he touched Reza's shoulders, then brought the left down. “Another dragon, to show your rank. You wear two, when most can't earn one.” He laughed, but he wasn't all that amused. “Reza, I've known what you are for a long time, don't you remember? I told you, that night. I know, and I still wanted you in my bed.” 

Reza's shoulders were tight under him, as he pressed a kiss to the blue chrysanthemum on the nape of his neck. “You went to prison for Zolt. Out of loyalty to him.”

“If he went down alone, he would have done ten years. The two of us, with my testimony, my _lies_ , we only did two each.” He still wouldn't look at Hwan, even as he unbound his silky black hair so that it hung loose. “It's the only honor I have left.” He admitted. “Zolt doesn't care. I do.”

Hwan gathered it up in his hands, and kissed it as well. When he let it go, he raked his fingers through, until it covered the chrysanthemum completely, then came around, on Reza's good side, so he could see him, so he wasn't afraid, and kissed him again, on his mouth. “You never forced me.” He said, giving him another kiss. “You had every right, but you never did. You waited until I consented.” Reza watched him with his good eye, wary, even as Hwan kissed him a third time. “You still have honor, Reza.”

Finally, Reza kissed him back, gathering him up in his arms, even the scarred one, holding him tight and safe. 

“I'm sorry,” Reza said, burying his face in Hwan's hair. “I'm sorry I couldn't save Baraz, or Li. Or the girl, Meiko.” 

And maybe it was that little thing, the fact that Reza knew her name, that broke every barrier he had left between himself and Reza. Because no one else did, no one else cared, not about some mutt serving girl with no real ability whose only talent had been to get the stains out of anything. Reza knew her name, and he was sorry she had died. 

“Reza,” he kissed him, and this time, Reza kissed him back. “There's no one to take care of her body.” Meiko had been alone, he remembered. Her mother dead, her father unknown. There was no one but them, this house. “Can you take her funeral out of my wages?” He had to be earning still, with Reza buying his time like he did. 

Reza shook his head. “She belonged to the house. I'll take it out of the profits. For all three of them.” 

Hwan closed his eyes and rested his head against Reza's shoulder, relieved and grateful and yes, in love. “Thank you.” He said, holding on to him tight. “Reza, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being a good man.” He replied, looking up at him, knowing all too well how he looked doing it, how naked his emotions were. He didn't care, not a bit, not when Reza was looking down at him with that same, worshipful expression. 

Reza kissed him, soft and sweet and trembling, and asked, so afraid, “I can sleep here?”

“Yes,” Hwan answered, even as he felt the weight of Amon's judgment. “Don't make me follow you downstairs, Reza, I will not sleep on that awful bed in that room, I will not, and you won't sleep by anyone but me.” 

“Hwan, don't,” he closed his eyes, and exhaled hard. “I know you hated to see me like that. I never wanted you to see me like that. But he was going to hurt you, and I wanted him dead for it. No one is allowed to hurt you. Not him, not fucking Aiko, not me.”

And Hwan let the words wash over him remembering that day in the bath, that day he'd heard possessiveness, in what had been protectiveness. _Not me_. No one had ever said anything like that to him, never, in all his years. “Reza,”

“I love you.”

His heart stuttered, stalled, as he tried to breathe, because he couldn't remember the last time someone had said it and meant it. He really couldn't. 

“Reza,” he wanted to say it back, but the words wouldn't come. Did he even know how to say them anymore? “Come to bed.” 

Again, Reza asked, “You're sure?”

Hwan licked his lips, nervous. “I didn't like seeing it. I _hated_ seeing it. But like I said, I've known who you were from the beginning, Reza. I know you.” He stroked his face, and wondered why his heart couldn't be more simple. “You're cruel and you're kind, you're honorable and you're immoral, and you're so many other things.” He didn't kiss him on the mouth, but on the forehead, like a blessing bestowed. “It makes sense, doesn't it?'

“What do you mean?” His hands were on Hwan's waist, steady and gentle.

“A Triad with honor,” he really did laugh now, as he leaned in for a kiss. “And a whore with honor.” 

Reza laughed too, even though it almost sounded like crying. “We're a good match.”

“We are,” he said, nodding.

And then he led Reza to bed, and helped him strip off the rest of his clothes, sliding out of his own robes. He settled back on the bed, and for the first time in a long time, in ever, if he was honest, he let someone else take care of him. He let Reza do the work, let him slip inside his body with little preparation, let him lie on top, facing him. He had never had sex in this position, not once. He had ridden men, let them take him on his knees, but never like this. Never where he was truly vulnerable. 

This way, Reza sank into him, with his scarred face ducked down, until Hwan, shocked at his own daring, tilted his chin up and forced him to look. His own hair felt uncomfortable around him, sticking to the back of his neck, and his shoulders as Reza moved, in and out. Reza's hair turned slick with sweat, as Hwan knotted his fingers in it, pulled him close enough for a kiss, and yes, he still wanted to cry. 

He had never felt so close to another human being as he did right now. He had never felt so open, so exposed. It hurt in a way sex never had, caused an ache in his chest he couldn't talk himself around. He knew what he was doing, as he let Reza in, knew he was damning himself, and yet, he still did it. 

After, Reza lay in his arms, like Hwan could shelter him from the world they faced. 

“I have an apartment,” Reza said, in the darkness, after he bended away the light of the lamps. “It's nice. You could live there.”

Hwan stared up at the dark ceiling, hardly daring to believe it. “Reza, if you put me in your home, I stop being the whore you like.”

“You start being my,” he laughed. “What's the equivalent of mistress?”

“Consort?” He suggested. 

“You'd be safe. Established.” 

Hwan shook his head, stroking his hair. “That's not what I want. I won't depend on someone. I can't. I need my own money, that I earned. And I can't live like that, alone. I don't know how. I need the house.”

“So be a bookkeeper, or an accountant.” Reza suggested, getting off him, leaving his exposed chest cool. “You have a head for numbers, you know. Better than a lot of people I've met. Run the house. Run all the houses. Or I can find you a position out of Triple Threat reach. I know people.”

Hwan sat up, nose wrinkled in confusion. “You would put me out of Triple Threat territory?” 

“I want you safe.” Reza said. “Away from this.” 

Hwan's jaw might have dropped, had he been any less well-bred. To hear Reza say he loved him, and actually see it demonstrated in such a way, well. Well. Hwan had been younger than thirteen when he'd dreamed of such things. 

“Reza?” Hwan pushed his hair back, and thought of Amon, thought of the lies he was going to tell to this man in the future. He was going to break Reza's heart one day, he knew now. And maybe he would be killed for it. Maybe. “I love you.” The words were heavy, but still easy in his mouth.

So maybe he wasn't as weak as he had been led to believe for all these years, he thought. Maybe there was a strength in him that had been sleeping. 

But he was still a liar, he thought, even now. Even at his most vulnerable, he was nothing but a liar. 

“I love you.” He repeated, as Reza rose up to kiss him. 

_I love you_ he thought, the next day, as he painted a clay mask with whiskers. A fox face, for Min Ling's blessing.

 _I love you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired I'm going to go pass out now thanks.


	21. Ringing in my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amon slowly starts to put his pieces back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I'm ♪ba-ack♫

“Inhale,” Kanna directed, and Amon obeyed. “Hold.” She gave him a ten-count, his hands shaking by the end, then said, “Exhale.” He let it all out in a gasp instead of a smooth release, and Kanna frowned, her lined face heavily disapproving. 

Amon said nothing. 

“How long?” she asked, not even giving him the courtesy of looking away from him. 

“Two hours.” 

She clucked and shook her head, rummaging through her own private stores of medicines, pulling a few bottles out and setting them beside her mortar and pestle. “Lucky you, there's no permanent damage. You won't be able to bend comfortably for a day or so though, so you're on bed rest. For the next week.” 

For once, he didn't even make the effort to argue. His bending would be shaky at best until then, and he'd be lucky if what she was mixing up didn't put him to sleep for that whole week anyway. He watched her prepare it, wondering what it was. He at least recognized the scent of ginger.

“How bad is the swelling?” he asked, still looking at the floor. 

“Bad. And I'm putting in something for your nerves too. They're irritated, but this'll take it down enough I can heal you tomorrow safely. I can't see what I'm doing too clearly just yet in there, and I can't risk willow bark on your stomach. I don't know the full effect of blood-bending on the organs.” She tapped him on the head, where Lieu had blocked his last chi line. “This area especially is delicate, and I won't risk making a mistake. You'll rest the rest of today and tomorrow, and then we'll take another look.” 

Amon nodded compliantly, choosing to keep his mind blank. 

“You could press charges. What he did was illegal. Beyond illegal. Chi-blocking is reserved for military use only.” She sighed, and starting grinding something. “But you won't, will you?” Amon could feel her disappointment, but he didn't know what to say. “That man does not come near this clinic by your invitation, do you understand me? You do not go see him, under any circumstances. I don't care if he's dying on the street, you leave him for someone else.” 

“Kanna.” He wasn't even sure what he was protesting, but the next thing he knew, Kanna had slapped him across the face. Not too hard, just enough to startle him, but he still stared at her with his mouth half-open until he saw it wasn't anger in her face, not in the slightest.

“Damn you, boy.” Her voice was trembling, in a way he'd never thought Kanna's could. “Damn you, you little idiot. You knew what he was and you went to that place, where you were vulnerable with him. He could have killed you, do you realize that? If that bull-headed girl hadn't decided to come after you, and thought to bring Pasook with her, I just...” 

Amon swallowed roughly, and tried to keep himself under control. “I'm sorry.” 

“You should be! They could have been killed walking into that building like that! And Yasu, that fool, he's got a price on his head and he knows it!” For all that her voice was raised, she was still carefully measuring out the mixture she was making for Amon. “Your friends love you, Amon. I hope you know that, and understand what kind of power that means you have over them.” 

Amon shook his head, answering honestly when he said, “No. I don't.” 

Kanna poured whatever she had ground up into a bottle, then added something with a dropper and shook it. “Amon...”

He explained, because he owed Kanna that. He owed this woman so much more than he could ever tell her, more than he could ever express. She had been what no one else had been for him; a teacher. A real one. “I never had friends. I never had anyone at all who loved me, except one person, and even he didn't love me like they do. I don't think he ever would have done what they did for me today.” He shook his head, and flexed his tingling fingers. The pain was still running like a current through his body, but it wasn't as bad as it had been at first, when Kanna had unlocked all his blocked chi lines, but it was still unpleasant. It still _hurt_ , in more places than the chi-blocking had touched.

Kanna remained silent, and finally held up the bottle, now holding an unpleasant looking mixture. She added two spoonfuls to a cup on her counter, then bended some water into it as well. It was steaming by the time she handed it to him, the smell strong and bitter. “Drink it all, and best to get it down in one gulp.” 

Amon stared at it for a moment, then did as he was told. It tasted as bad as it looked, but he kept it down. Kanna might not be sure, but he knew the damage blood-bending could do to his system if he didn't take care of it now. 

“I trusted him,” Amon confessed to her, afraid of seeming weak in front of her even now. “I trusted Yue. Why did she lie to me?” 

Kanna put two strong hands on his shoulders and forced him to look her in the eye. “The spirits are playing a game we have no hope of comprehending. Now you listen to me, Amon. No bender as blessed as you is not beloved to our spirits. Whatever the point of this is, you must believe it was for the greater good. You must believe that our spirits watch over you.” 

Amon supposed that must be true. They had given him this knife, and trusted him to wield it responsibly. Why would they do that if they didn't believe he was capable of it? 

“Amon?” She was looking at him with that intent gaze of hers, forcing him to acknowledge her, to answer. It was odd, suddenly. His father had had a similar look, one that demanded an answer, but whereas he's always obeyed his father out of fear, he obeyed Kanna out of respect, the respect she'd earned in a way his father had never cared to.

He nodded to the unspoken question and stood on shaky legs. His ankles and knees still throbbed painfully, feet tingling with sleepy nerves, but still he stood and stayed standing. He'd been bloodbended before. He could handle it. “You're right. I should go lie down in my room. Rest.” 

“Yes,” she agreed, frowning as she looked at him with no small amount of suspicion, likely at his out-of-character compliance. “You should.” 

He forced himself to walk to the door, and had his hand on it when she added, “Love is a many-faceted thing, Amon. It's not like stories. It's not always good, or right. Sometimes, all it gives you is pain. But we always learn from it, if we're smart.” She touched him unexpectedly then, and spirits help him, he flinched, his body frightened in a way it hadn't been in over a year. Kanna didn't draw away though, her hand steady on his shoulder, holding him in place. “You were strong enough to walk away from the ones you loved once already, Amon. You're strong enough to walk away from him too.” 

She sounded so sure of him, of his character. 

“I'm tired,” he said, because he was. 

He was so tired. 

His friends had gone back on their shifts while Kanna saw to him, though the way she had looked at them promised no small amount of punishment coming all their ways later. The clinic couldn't afford to spare two healers and a medic for him, his rescue, and his recuperation, nor did he expect them to. Honestly, being alone was easier for the moment, even though it was a struggle to get himself up the stairs and back to his dorm room. It was bad enough he had needed them to come save him, bad enough he had put Penna and Pasook in such a dangerous situation. Bad enough he could have gotten Yasu killed. 

He could get back to his room alone. At least he could do that without ruining everything. 

However, he had another unpleasant surprise waiting for him even there. 

His roommate was gone. Not just for his shift. The bed had been stripped, the sheets and blanket neatly folded at the end, the cabinet his things were kept in empty. Amon stared, uncomprehending, before he realized he would be alone for good tonight. Shaken, he sat down on his own bed, and stared at the empty one across from him. 

He'd had so little interaction with him, his roommate. They were on different shifts, like all roommates. But he'd always been there when Amon woke in the middle of his sleeping hours, snoring in the next bed, a reassurance he'd desperately needed some nights. 

Now he was gone too. Had the clinic been too much? Had he gotten another offer?

Amon tucked himself into his own bed, watching the empty bed instead of his wall, like he usually did. 

He had never had his own room in his whole life. It was not a welcome event, not right now when being alone meant he was all by himself in his head with his demons. He thought about leaving a note in Pasook's room, asking him to come to Amon's after his shift and sleep in his room, but once he was in his bed and beneath the blankets, his heavy limbs refused to allow him to move again. 

Nightmares were prowling around his mind, and he thought again that he would need Pasook, or Penna, or Yasu. He could not risk sleeping alone, or they would let themselves in. But his body felt numb and weighed down, and he couldn't force himself up.

Eventually, Kanna's medicine finished its work, and he fell into the deep sleep only brought by medicine. 

He woke sharply in the darkness, with no idea of the time. The pain was back, worse now that he had been given a reprieve from it. Worse, his heart was thudding hard in his chest, the panic from an already forgotten dream refusing to leave as easily as its cause. Desperately, he tried to ease himself the way he usually did, making himself think about something else. He tried the skeleton, reciting each bone in alphabetical order. 

It worked sometimes. 

Not tonight. 

He gave up and made himself get up and out of the bed, his knees and spine protesting the whole way. There was no chance of him going back to sleep though. His mind was still racing, and there was nothing he could now except take more medicine, or...

In spite of his own common sense, he dressed as best he could and slid his parka on over his head. His fingers felt swollen and clumsy, far too much to even attempt to manage his hair. For a second, he was going to pull his parka back off and give up. 

Then, with a kind of daring that only comes from exhaustion, he yanked the knit cap Hwan had bought him over his loose hair and walked out the door of his room. He struggled down the steps holding the railing as tightly as he could, and down to the ground floor.

Once he was outside in the cold, his joints hurt worse. He'd never realized how much he relied on his bending to keep the snow and ice away from him in the winter, not until now when he was forced to pull his chinook up over his mouth and was still cold, the air sinking down into his bones and tightening the already abused nerves of his body. 

Pain was nothing new to him, thankfully, nor was cold. He was perfectly capable of walking down the steps of the clinic and down a familiar path. He had a goal in mind, a step towards what he knew Yue really wanted for him. Not Lieu, never Lieu. Another life, another purpose. 

The Hidden Garden Arbour was still lit, so it wasn't yet the few hours before dawn. How long had he slept? He hadn't checked the clock tower on his way, hadn't dared raise his head once he was in enemy territory.

It didn't matter, he supposed. Either way, he walked in, and found the place busy. There wasn't any sign of any extra Triad tonight, and Amon could get guess why. They were having problems with both the Red Monsoon and the Agni Kai, and since they had been hit by one, it made sense the Triple Threat would hit back tonight or at least be planning something. Which hopefully meant Hwan was alone. Zolt wouldn't plan anything without Reza and Lieu, would he? 

A servant passing by looked at him in interest, so Amon raised his eyebrows at her and asked, “Do you know where Hwan is? I'm supposed to be paying him a home visit.” He had come here before after all, and hopefully this servant would buy it.

She did. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Of course. He's in the office, straight back that way, past the storage closets.” She pointed in the direction she meant, and Amon nodded his thanks before following her directions. 

The hallway with the closets was much quieter than the rest of the house, none of the rooms lit except the one at the end, a sliver of light beneath the door. He slid it back to reveal Hwan sitting at a low desk, papers full of columns in front of him and the edge of a pen in his mouth. His long hair was in one of its usual elaborate twists, all of it gathered off his neck and into the complicated bun, his clothes artfully disheveled. 

The sight of him was achingly comfortable. 

“I thought I told you lot not to disturb me,” Hwan drawled, glancing up. When he saw Amon though, he immediately stood, quickly sliding the door shut behind Amon and hurrying him further into the room. “Have you lost your mind? What are you doing here?” He turned the latch on the door too, presumably as a precaution. “Even Reza wants your head on a platter right now. This is the last place you should be.”

“I needed to see you,” Amon replied, eyeing the door now. Hwan obviously saw the look, and pulled his robe tighter around himself. 

“Don't say things like that either,” he cautioned. “The walls have ears, and I'm not sure whose ears. Trust me, if Reza heard you had said something like that...” 

Amon knew he wasn't supposed to bend, but the brief flicker of bloodbending he used to scan around the room was hopefully so little it would do no further damage. “We're alone,” he confirmed for Hwan, when he felt no other bodies near the offices. “I assume your bosses have a problem down in the east side of the city?”: 

“Good guess,” Hwan replied, relaxing a bit. “Reza told me that they were having their meeting at the Black Lotus tonight. There's more security there, and it's deeper in the heart of their territory.” He played with the end of one of the short braids that trailed from the knot of hair for a moment before he said, “It's where Reza's house is. He owns a townhouse, apparently. It's very nice. It's on Mangrove Street.” 

Amon frowned, unsure of why Hwan felt the need to even mention it. Mangrove was not in the wealthiest neighborhood of the city, but it was upscale enough that some of the older houses had main entrances and servants' doors. Amon only ever went when they were soliciting donations. 

Hwan seemed so uncomfortable. 

It only took Amon another moment. “Oh,” he said. “Why? Why would he offer that?” 

“Because I was nearly raped and murdered,” Hwan replied, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “And he loves me. He wants to keep me safe.” 

Even Amon could hear the strain in Hwan's voice, the desperation to believe his own words. Anger bubbled up and boiled over inside of Amon, everything he knew about Hwan unable to reconcile such a stupid decision with the man Amon knew. 

“He wants to put you in a prettier cage,” Amon corrected him sharply. “He can't stand the idea of someone else hurting his little pet, can he? That's his alone, right? How long until I'm healing burns on you from where he loses his temper and -”

“Stop,” Hwan said, his tone firm again. “Amon?” He came closer, rolling the sleeves of his own robe back so that his hands were free. “What happened?” Hwan reached out and touched Amon, helping him pull his parka over his head without asking permission. Once that was done, Hwan pushed up the sleeves of Amon's shirt, showing the now obvious swelling in his hands.

His eyes widened, as he ran his fingers over it all. “Oh, Amon...what did he do to you?” he asked, not hiding his horror or his sorrow. 

Amon found he couldn't meet Hwan's eyes. How could he, when Hwan had warned him so clearly? When everyone had? This was his fault too, in some way. He had chosen to go back to Lieu, even after he knew the truth about the man. He had walked back into that man's arms because he'd been unwilling to face his reality. He had brought this pain on himself, apparently needing the lesson of who Lieu was pounded into him until he could never forget. 

“Will it get better?” Hwan asked, clearly frightened for him. 

“In a few days,” Amon answered, sitting when Hwan directed him to. “It's what happens when you chi-block a bender for too long. It causes inflammation. I can't even bend now, not for a few days, until the swelling has all gone down. And even then, Kanna thinks there might be more permanent damage.” That was not what she had said, but Amon was no idiot. “I could see it in her face. The fear.” Amon didn't think there was, could not bring himself to believe that of Lieu just yet. 

Admitting that, even in his own head, made something in him scream. How could he still feel anything for that man? How could he still be so desperate to deny just what he was?

Was this how his mother had felt when Amon had told her the truth all those years ago? Had she known what a monster her husband was, and still denied it in her own head because she couldn't bear not loving him? 

Hwan hummed in consideration, and Amon turned to see what he was doing, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. 

There had been a kettle on the hibachi, and now Hwan was removing a cloth from the top of it. It was damp, and when Hwan knelt in front of Amon, he wrapped it around Amon's knuckles. “My ankle has been giving me problems again,” Hwan explained. “I injured it when I was just learning to dance. I must have strained it the other day. This helps better than ice for me.” 

“Thank you,” Amon said, already ashamed of his show of temper towards Hwan. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things.” 

His friend nodded. “It _was_ rather rude of you. Especially since it wasn't about Reza at all, now was it?” When Amon didn't respond, unable to think of one that didn't make him sound weak, Hwan smiled in that professional way of his. “I would say I told you so, but fortunately for you, I'm aware of how irritating it is to hear. After all, I've heard it from you enough times.” He raised his eyebrows at Amon, his smile melting into a more genuinely sympathetic expression. “Will you go back to him again?”

“No,” Amon answered honestly, and knew he meant it this time. “I've seen how this story ends. Do you know how many people I see in a week telling me that they fell down a flight of stairs, or they tripped? That they're just _clumsy_?” Because it would happen again, wouldn't it? Lieu would use it on him again, or his superior physical strength, his fighting skills. He would pin Amon down again when Amon refused to obey, would take away his only defense. 

“I'm going to assume that's a rhetorical question,” Hwan muttered, carefully trailing his fingers up Amon's sore wrists to suss out the damage without hurting Amon any further. Amon was grateful. He didn't think he could take anymore pain in that area. “Spirits, this is bad, isn't it? I knew he was violent, but I never thought he would really hurt you. Me, of course, but you...I don't know what I was thinking. I was being optimistic for once in my life, I suppose. Silly me, will try not to do that again.” 

“I never thought he would hurt me either,” Amon replied, allowing Hwan to do as he liked. Truthfully, Hwan probably knew more about easing pain than Amon did when the option of healing was removed. His father had never liked them doing anything of the sort after training, and he had not let their mother either.

Yakone had believed in the philosophy of pain being the greatest of teachers. It had certainly taught Amon a good deal about his father, at the very least. 

“My father died,” he said aloud, needing to say it, and Hwan gave him an odd look. 

“Should I express sympathy?” he hazarded.

Amon shook his head, some part of him laughing at the very idea. “No. I don't even know why I'm upset. I hated him. I wanted him dead.” It was true, Amon could accept that about himself. He'd hated Yakone. He'd hated his mother too, as much as he could. He certainly couldn't respect her like a child should respect a mother, not after what she'd allowed to happen to both him and Tarrlok, her own children. “Do you hate your father?” 

Hwan made a face, then shrugged. “I've been angry with him for a long time, but I've never hated him. After my mother died, he fell apart. He'd always loved his dice games, but without her, it was as though he lost any other interests. Even us. His debts piled up, and eventually, Hye and I were the only assets he had left.” He brushed a braid over his shoulder. “My mother was very beautiful. Luckily for him, we all took after her. We all fetched a high price.” 

“It's wrong,” Amon said, angry all over again. It was easier to direct his thoughts towards Hwan and people like him, the ones who needed the most help in this city, instead of drowning himself in self-pity. “No one has the right to sell another person. Especially not children.” 

“No,” Hwan replied, rubbing the pads of his fingers into Amon's hurt wrists in soothing circles. “He doesn't have that right in a perfect world. But in this world, the law said he did, so he sold us all. It makes me angry even now. I don't hate how my life turned out, but when I think of who I could have been...I could have sat for exams, you know. I was a very good student.” His ministrations were starting to hurt Amon, but Amon didn't say anything. “I could hate him. But my father is ill. He can't help himself. So I might pity him to the point of disgust, and I might like having a few cities between myself and him, but no, I don't hate him.” The pain was starting to turn into a comfortable numbness. “Did your father deserve hatred?” 

He could have said nothing. He could have told a version of the truth. It would be so easy to lie like he had been lying for so long. However, Tarrlok was here now. And Lieu knew the truth. If he lied to Hwan, it would come out, and Hwan would never forgive him. Amon couldn't handle losing anyone else, especially not now. So instead, he admitted aloud his greatest sin, the one he could never change. “My father was Yakone.”

For once, he had managed to shock Hwan into complete silence. Some part of him was a little proud of that. 

“This isn't you joking, is it?” Hwan asked, his nose wrinkling in a frown. “If so, you're very bad at it, and you should never do it again.” When Amon said nothing, Hwan sighed, and shook his head. “Of course he was. You can never be uncomplicated, can you, dear heart?” He took away the cloth on Amon's hands, and set it aside. With more grace than Amon could ever manage in Hwan's clothes, the man poured hot water from the kettle into a porcelain bowl, and soaked the cloth in it. “I trust he was no better at being a father than he was at being a decent human being?” 

“No, he wasn't,” Amon confirmed, flexing his fingers. Everything still hurt, but his hands felt a bit better for now. “Do you hate me?” he asked cautiously, unsure of his friend for the first time. He had no idea how Hwan felt about Yakone and what that man had made here in Republic City. After all, Yakone had been heavily involved in the formation of the Triads here, hadn't he? How much of Hwan's situation was his fault? 

Hwan just made an uncharacteristically undignified noise, and arched an eyebrow at Amon. Cheerily, he answered, “My dear sweet little healer, perhaps it's escaped your notice, but I'm a whore and a gangster's moll. I watched Reza burn people alive, and then I let him back in my bed and comforted him.” That was not something Amon needed to hear, and he rubbed his temple to ward off the burgeoning headache he seemed to always get from Hwan. “We have a saying, in Ba Sing Se. _Those who walk barefoot should not spread glass._ It means that if you're in a position to be harmed, you shouldn't deliberately try to hurt someone else in the same way. It tends to end in mutual destruction.” 

“But it's alright to hurt them in a different way?” Amon asked, hissing when Hwan wrapped the hot cloth around his wrist without warning him. 

“Do you know who Min Ling is?” Hwan asked calmly, and Amon shook his head. It sounded like a spirit's name, but Amon wasn't familiar with any others beyond his own. “Min Ling is a forest spirit who wears a fox's face. A trickster. Min Ling has no real face, no real gender. It's constantly shifting to suit Min Ling's needs. But always, Min Ling is a fox, underneath it all. I was born on Min Ling's feast day.” Amon supposed that fit, and a small smile worked its way onto his face. “I don't follow any particular philosophy, Amon. I choose to honor my birth-spirit by surviving in whatever way I can. That's what I'm good at.” 

His hands on Amon's face were a surprise. They were cooler than he thought they would be. 

“And that's what _you're_ good at too.” He was insistent now, his green eyes focused on Amon's own, forcing Amon to meet his without flinching. “What Lieu did to you? It was more than what someone can see, I know, believe me, sweetheart, I know. He ruined it. He took something so beautiful, and he broke it. And you miss it, but you'll never be able to fix it. You have to accept that now. Or he'll just keep doing it.” Hwan took his hands away when Amon nodded. “Good.”

Amon took over with the cloth, thankful for the excuse to look away. Hwan stood and knelt behind the desk again, sighing at the mess there. He looked at the papers, then huffed and put them in a neat stack at the corner. 

“I think masks are in order,” he said, and when Amon gave him a puzzled expression, he elaborated. “For your little project. We need masks. Something to keep ourselves hidden. We shouldn't wear any identifying colors either. No red, no green, no blue, you get my point. I think black, other dark colors, those will be better.” 

The change of subject was both welcome and a bit startling. “You _are_ taking this seriously,” he said, pleased and somewhat surprised. He hadn't been sure he could get Hwan on his side, not really. There was too much at stake for him, after all. 

“My friend is dead,” Hwan said, playing with his hair again. “Meiko and Li were children. She was a mix, she couldn't get work anywhere else. She was such a good laundress, but no one would hire her because of her blood. It wasn't right.” He shook his head. “It wasn't. And Li was sold to us to pay off his father's debts, just like me, just like so many others. He never should have been here. He never should have had to pay for their crimes.” 

“And Baraz?” Amon had not known him, Hwan's friend. Honestly, he had been more relieved it wasn't Hwan dead on the ground than anything else, and then he had been focused on healing, on helping, doing the one thing he could for them. Now he wondered a little about the man, his golden eyes staring at nothing. Never to see another thing. Never to know any other life but this one.

Because of Bao, and everything the Triple Threat had brought to the door. 

“He was a prissy little creature who never spoke if he didn't have to,” Hwan said, wiping at the underside of his eyes with the tips of his fingers. “He hated being here. He hated this job. He was so delicate looking, men liked to hurt him. Bruise him. Bao was the only one who was ever nice to him, probably because that Triad trash had never had anything so pretty in his whole life.” Hwan tried to smile, but didn't quite manage. His breath was shallow, and he covered his mouth with his hand for a moment. “He was the one who helped me when I came to this house. He showed me where all the best shops were, all the nicest restaurants. He was...he deserved better.”

Amon waited until he was sure Hwan was finished, then offered, “I'm sorry.” And he was, he realized. He was sorry someone that Hwan had cared for was dead, sorry that someone so young had been forced into someone they should never have had to be, and he was sorry that this was the world they lived in. “Are they going to do the same thing to the Red Monsoon?” 

Hwan shrugged, wiping at his eyes again. “Reza won't. Zolt would, if not for Reza. And Lieu, even. Lieu talks a big game, but I think he would hesitate when it came to the actual deed. There's something so very unsettling about hurting people who can't defend themselves. It can give even the worst people pause.” He was obviously including Lieu in that. Amon wondered if Reza was being included too.

The cloth had cooled, but there was nothing he could do about it. It was so odd to not be able to bend, to have something so vital to his nature stripped away. Just the thought of those hours spent in Lieu's apartment, listening to Lieu talk about the Triad, about Zolt and Nanook and his parents, all his justifications for the things he had done...for what he was doing to Amon, even as he spoke about loving Amon... 

Just the thought was enough to make his throat start to close up in fear, his heart thudding too hard in his chest. Lieu had taken his bending, had made him weak. Had made him nothing. And to know what he had to do to stop Amon's bloodbending, he had to have thought about it. He had to have planned sometime in the hours after Amon had told him the truth and that moment in the bedroom. 

He pulled himself together, dragging his thoughts out of that place. “So what will they do?” He had to know. He had to know just who was going to hurt next, what the man that still dominated his thoughts was truly capable of. 

And who would know better than the person they all wanted to sleep with? 

“They'll hit the clubhouse, wherever it is they like to hang around and feel like kings in,” Hwan drawled, the only thing giving away his brief emotional lapse his reddened eyes. “I've been to the Agni Kai's, back when they owned this house. I was the favorite of one of their thugs, and he would take me every now and then, when he wanted to show me off.” Amon could easily see that. Hwan might not be as beautiful as Baraz, but he was cultured and charming, when he wanted to be. He was a prize among Lieu's kind. 

He was perfect for the plans forming in Amon's mind, the ideas slowly growing into something corporeal. 

“How well-guarded are they?” Amon asked curiously, and got a raised eyebrow in return.

“Think smaller for the beginning of this little operation, Amon,” Hwan warned him, standing again to pace. “Just you and me right now, remember? And you're the only one of the pair of us who knows how to fight, and you're out of commission.” 

“Might be more than just the two of us,” Amon confided, thinking of his friends. “I'm not sure just yet. As for the second problem, that's part of why I needed to see you. We need somewhere to meet that's not here. Here is too dangerous for me now.” With Lieu coming in and out at all hours, Amon couldn't risk it. Lieu had proven that he was more than capable of dispatching Amon if he got close enough and Amon, if he was honest with himself, might still hesitate long enough for him to do so. He might, and he couldn't risk finding out for sure. “Can you get away from here? Will Reza allow you to?” 

“Reza doesn't tell me what to do,” Hwan snapped with more ferocity than Amon would have thought he was capable of a year ago when they met. “He's welcome to _try_ , of course, and spirits know he does. But he knows I can handle myself.” He frowned in thought. “Have you ever been to Air Temple Island?” Amon shook his head. “It's neutral ground, for all the Triads. Place of peace and unity, you know?” His lip twisted mockingly. “I think there might be our best bet.”

“Do you think anyone would recognize me?” Amon asked, relieved when Hwan shook his head. 

“You're too dark, and you wear your hair so long and traditional. You might look a bit like him, I don't know, but even if you do, the Avatar is rarely there anymore.” He had pulled a braid loose during his pacing, and now he was chewing on it. It reminded Amon of his own hair, and he touched the stray edge of what had been one of his side tails. He hadn't taken his hat off, and had no plans to. Going out with his hair like this was as far as he could push his rebellion today. 

“Do you think we're making a mistake?” Amon thought he sounded frightened. “Doing this?”

“I think we're going to get ourselves killed,” Hwan muttered around his hair. “But no, I don't think this is a mistake anymore. I really don't.” 

There was a knock at the door, and Hwan turned, his brow furrowed. “Yes?” he called. 

“Just making sure it was you,” someone said, and the door slid open to show Reza. “They're all too drunk to even bend. I left the twins... _fuck_.” 

Amon had no idea what to do. Reza's face was impossible to read for Amon even if Reza wasn't so heavily scarred. He didn't know how close Reza was to Lieu, how he felt about their relationship, how he felt about what Lieu had done, if he even knew. Amon was frozen in place, staring at the man, helpless without his bending, especially against a firebender of Reza's mettle. 

“Reza,” Hwan stepped forward, and for the second time in too few days, one of Amon's friends put themselves in danger for him. “Please, stay calm.” 

“I am calm,” Reza said, shutting the door. “I'm calmly wondering what the fuck goes through your head, Hwan.” For all his body language was angry, because that, that was one Amon could read, Reza made no move towards Hwan that could be termed violent. “Lieu could come by at any point, and you have the one thing he wants sitting in our office.” He gestured at Amon with his good hand, giving Amon a dark look. 

“Reza, please,” Hwan pleaded, reaching out to touch Reza's face. He was rebuffed, and the hurt stole across Hwan's face. “Reza...”

The man had rounded on Amon though. “And you, you must be the biggest idiot in the city. What are you doing here?” 

“He came to see me, make sure I was alright,” Hwan answered for Amon, and how easily he lied still amazed Amon a bit. “I was a bit shook up after...what happened...and he was worried. He is my friend, you know.”

“Yeah?” Reza asked, and Amon heard the sarcasm. “Ever occur to either of you that him coming here was a damn good way to get himself killed? That's a shitty way to treat a friend, in my experience.” 

“It was stupid, I admit,” Hwan said. “I'm sorry. I'll see him out.” 

There was a curious magic to what Hwan did, one Amon simply couldn't fathom. It was in the way he moved, the way he spoke. Amon had never possessed the ability to manipulate people the way Hwan did. Even now, Amon could see Reza's anger receding, his shoulders relaxing as he turned towards Hwan. It was almost like watching someone bend. 

Amon wondered if Hwan could teach the skill. 

“Don't bring him back here if you want him to actually live through the winter,” Reza warned Hwan, and gave Amon one last glare before leaving Hwan's personal sphere and sitting cross-legged at the desk. “Get him out, before Lieu drags his sorry ass in here and sees him. I've already cleaned up that mess once. I don't want to do it again.” 

Hwan smiled at Reza, and bent at the waist, his arms crossed across his chest, to kiss Reza once on the cheek. “Of course,” he agreed. “Amon, pull your chinook back up. Who knows what's crawled in the door since you came in.” 

“Thank you, sweetheart, that makes me feel wonderful,” Reza said dryly, and earned himself a smirk from Hwan before he and Amon were out in the hallway. 

As soon as they were five steps from the door, Hwan hissed, “Air Temple Island, tomorrow?” 

“In the afternoon?” Amon suggested, mindful of the sleeping schedule Hwan kept. Asking him to be up and about in the early morning was cruel, and besides that, he'd be beyond useless. “On the northern side of the island?” He needed to find out his friends' schedules. At least one of them should come, and not just so they could get started. Amon was helpless right now, and Hwan made an art form out of it. They needed protection. 

Hopefully, Penna could come or meet them later. Out of the three of them, he thought she might be the best combative bender. She was more powerful than Yasu, and more ruthless than Pasook. 

“I'll see you then,” Hwan agreed, briefly embracing him at the door. “Bring those books you told me about, and I'll see what I can do with them.” 

“I will,” Amon promised, stepping out of the warmth and into the freezing cold of the entryway. There was a guard now. Not Bao. He wondered where Bao was, if he was drinking himself into a stupor like all the others. More than likely. “Be careful until then.” 

“Darling, I'm always careful,” Hwan teased, and disappeared back inside. 

Outside, the streets were still freezing and the sky was still dark. It was going to start snowing again soon. Amon could feel it in the air, could taste it in the crisp air. He longed for more of it, for the comfort of snow and ice around him. He missed his home with a sudden longing he couldn't explain, and it ached to think of the Long Night, the endless stars and the smell of the fire. 

Sometimes, like now, he missed them. He missed his family. Not necessarily them as people, not his father or even his mother, not really. He missed the feeling of being safe and comfortable. Of belonging to a place, of knowing how everything worked and where every piece fit exactly. 

More than anyone, he missed Tarrlok, as he had been. He missed himself, missed Noatak, in some ways. 

But the truth was, he hadn't been Noatak for so long that he wasn't sure there was anything left of that boy, not enough to still be Tarrlok's older brother. He thought he might have proven that to Tarrlok in the park that day. Noatak would never have said anything like that. Noatak had not known how to express pain, or anger, or hatred. He had never been allowed. 

Amon had been little better for so long. All that time in the Earth Kingdom, and then here, spent living behind walls of his own making because no one had ever taught him how to be any other way. All he had wanted was to be alone, to be safe. 

He rubbed his aching wrists as he made his way carefully down the sidewalk. Without his bending, there was suddenly a risk of falling on the ice and slush that had never been there before. He didn't need anymore injuries. Kanna would have him put on some kind of house arrest, would never let him leave the building again. 

The moon above him was waxing, and he took a moment to admire the sight on the steps of the clinic. 

He was tired, but he still had one more thing to do before he could rest easily.

Kneeling on the rug in the prayer room proved too painful, so he sat with one knee pulled to his chest, and the other leg angled around it, slumping over onto his knee a bit. It felt wrong to be so disrespectful to Yue, but he didn't think she'd mind that much, considering the circumstances. 

“I still don't understand,” he said aloud. “Maybe I never will. Maybe I'm not supposed to. Or maybe you had nothing to do with me and him. Maybe that was one of his spirits. The Fire Nation has many, and I'm sure they have goals I have no hope of comprehending.” 

As always, she was silent. He didn't take it personally. 

“You were a good leader.” He remembered his mother telling him about that day, about the kind and loving princess. He remembered what she had done for them all. “I'm not good at what you need me to do. Speaking to people, getting them to understand, I've always been so...they've always frustrated me. Too complicated. Too dangerous.” 

Now he thought of his friends, of Penna's cheery smile and Pasook's easy charm. Of Yasu, and the way he could get a smile out of anyone. Hwan, and his perfect words. 

“That's why you led me to them all, because you knew they could teach me what my father couldn't, what I couldn't learn on my own. How to speak, how to make friends. You knew who I needed in my life, even when I didn't.” Penna and Pasook hadn't given up on him even when he'd been awful to them. They'd been determined to be his friends, to be in his life. Yue had known. She'd guided them all together, hadn't she?

“I will be the leader you need me to be,” he promised her, looking up at her face, half hidden away from him, like her hood had been drawn up. “I will not let this stop me. Not my anger at him, not Tarrlok, and not...” He struggled over the term, the sound of it so dramatic and strange. “Not a broken heart.” 

Above him, she smiled, or so he told himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Criticisms? Questions?
> 
> Remember, I am conveniently located at [The March Rabbit](http://themarchrabbit.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, where I accept prompts and private crit. Just remember to put 'Ramblings' on your Tumblr Savior, and you will see nothing but fandom from me if you choose to follow me.
> 
> Also, a link to the fan-fanfiction (fanception?) written about Reza and Hwan.
> 
>  
> 
> [He Had Fallen In Love](http://rowenjilbert.tumblr.com/post/32404243621/reza-hwan-he-had-fallen-in-love)  
> [Finish The Hat](http://rowenjilbert.tumblr.com/post/31078676811/reza-hwan-finish-the-hat)  
> [One More Drink For The Road](http://rowenjilbert.tumblr.com/post/31429994113/reza-hwan-one-more-drink-for-the-road)
> 
>  
> 
> Hwan was for real a throwaway character. He was. And then he just...yeah. Okay then. 
> 
> Also, a link to the TV Tropes page, if you need a time-waster:
> 
> [The Lovers That Went Wrong](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/TheLoversThatWentWrong) (Warning, TV Tropes is a great big black hole)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N Criticism is, as always, greatly appreciated.


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